JOHN  A 
STETIART 


* 


A   SON    OF   GAD 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


of 


BY 


JOHN   A.  STEUART 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  MINISTER    OF  STATE,   WINE  ON  THE  LEES 
THE  ETERNAL    QUEST,   ETC. 


A  troop  thall  overcome  him : 
But  he  thall  overcome  at  the  last 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1902 


COPYRIGHT,  1902 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published  October,  1902 


NOTE 

AMONG  the  signs  of  the  times  there  is  no  more 
remarkable,  no  more  encouraging  omen  than  the  swift 
drawing  together  of  the  two  great  Anglo-Saxon 
peoples.  This  story  of  Great  Britain  and  America 
illustrates  the  community  of  interest  and  sentiment 
which  is  fast  Americanising  England  and  Anglicising 
America. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — A  HOME-COMING  AND  A  PRAYER  OF  VENGEANCE  .  I 

;  II. — HOSTILITIES — SOME  ADVENTURES  AND  THE  RESULT  8 

III. — THE  BANKS  OF  OHIO — AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  16 

IV. — A  TRYING  INTERVIEW         rf-'.'.ri.  £?;  ;.o:v*  v.    .          .  23 

V. — AFTERTHOUGHTS  AND  A  PROOF  OF  LOYALTY         .  30 

VI. — CONSPIRATORS  «,.     ,. 38 

VII. — CONSPIRACY  TAKES  A  NEW  TURN    ....  43 

VIII.— IN  THE  LION'S   DEN,  AND   WHAT  HAPPENED  THERE  50 

IX. — THE  LION'S  DEN— continued     .;•.  «    -    .        .        .  58 

X. — CAPTAIN  MACLEAN  SEES  A  VISION.       ...  65 

XI. — ENTER  MR.  ROLLO  LINNIE     .K.C-.VVH      .       •  75 

XII. — TREASON •••.;• .-,;  ••» ..  •   .  81 

XIII. — A  DIPLOMATIC  BATTLE       .          .          *<   ,»r»r-      .          .  89 

XIV. — AN   EXCHANGE   OF   CIVILITIES     .           .          .      vV-.      .  98 

XV. — IAN   LEADS  INTERLOPERS  A   DANCE  ....  IO6 

XVI. — TRIUMPH  AND  DISAPPOINTMENT      .       .       .       .113 

XVII. — AMONG  THE  SHEEPFOLDS     pi  *:>  .•-.-,.£>  tt.<     .       .  121 

XVIII. — A  MILLIONAIRE   AT  WORK           .          .          .  •.•'?'»  .    '.  126 

XIX. — NATIONAL  CHARACTERISTICS 131 

XX. — YOUNG  AMERICA  AT  LARGE     .....  142 

XXI. — YOUNG  AMERICA—  continued    .       «       *        .        .146 

XXII. — MOTOR  versus  GIG    .        .        .        .        %        .        .  154 

XXIII.— THE    LAIRD    A    PRISONER — CONNIE     MAKES   A    DIS- 
COVERY    160 

XXIV. — THE  MAKING  OF  MILLIONS l68 

XXV. — A   MOMENTOUS   INTERVIEW 174 

XXVI. — A   TEST  OF   LOYALTY 184 

XXVII. — THE  LAIRD'S  SECRET 191 

vii 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVIII. — A    STRANGE  CONTRIBUTION    TO    HIDDEN  TREAS- 
URE      198 

XXIX. — A  WOODLAND   EXPLORATION          ....  204 

XXX. — A   SUM   IN   ARITHMETIC 2O8 

XXXI.— GROUSE  SHOOTING,  WITH  SOME  HINTS  ON  RICHES  217 

XXXII. — PLAYING  FOR  A  GREAT  PRIZE     ....  227 

XXXIII. — AN  OLYMPIAN  FESTIVAL     .....  232 

XXXIV. — PEER  AND  DEMOCRAT 239 

XXXV. — FOR   THE   GLORY   OF   THE   LAIRD  AND   OF   NOR- 

MAN 249 

XXXVI. — A   PRECIPITATE  LOVER 255 

XXXVII. — A   VITAL   RECKONING 263 

XXXVIII. — CONNIE  GIVES  A  LESSON  IN  CHIVALRY       .        .  271 

XXXIX. — SHILBECK  GIVES  BRITONS  A  TIP         .        .        .  280 

XL. — PACKING  THE  HALF-HOOP  OF  DIAMONDS    .        .  289 

XLI. — REALIZED  IDEALS 297 

XLII. — REVELATIONS       . 305 

XLI II. — A  PEEP  FROM  BEHIND  CURTAINS  .          .          -313 

XLIV. — ROLLO   DISCHARGES   A   DEBT           ....  320 

XLV. — AN   ENCOUNTER   IN   THE   NIGHT    ....  326 

XLVI. — NEW  YORK — THE  EVERLASTING  LESSON    .        .  332 

XLVII. — A   HASTY   DEPARTURE — AVE  ATQUE   VALE  .           .  341 

XLVIII.— THE  WRECK 348 

XLIX. — SHILBECK  AND  BRASH  EXCHANGE  VIEWS  .        .  356 

L. — HOPE  AND  DESPAIR 367 

LI. — CONNIE  MAKES  A  CONFESSION     .  375 
LII. — AMERICAN   WOMANHOOD — LADY   ARDVENMORE 

IN  QUEST  OF  INFORMATION        .                     .          .  383 

LIII. — TWO   MESSAGES 39! 

LIV. — THE  KING  AND  HIS  OWN 398 

LV. — HANDS  ACROSS  THE  SEA 408 


Vlll 


A  SON   OF   GAD 


CHAPTER   I 

A  HOME-COMING  AND  A  PRAYER  OF  VENGEANCE 

DUNVEAGLE  Castle  was  a  blaze  of  variegated  light, 
recalling  in  its  festive  pomp  the  glorious  night  of  fifty 
years  before  when  the  last  heir,  Alan  MacLean,  came 
of  age.  Thoughtful  people,  however,  marked  a  tragic 
contrast,  token  and  consummation  of  many  an  un- 
happy change.  In  the  earlier  jubilation  torches 
gleamed  ruddily  on  tartan  and  bare  knee,  and  blithe 
feet  tripped  and  blither  hearts  bounded  to  the  music  of 
the  pipes.  The  splendour  of  the  great  ball  is  still  a 
legend  or  the  source  of  legends  over  half  a  county ;  nay, 
memories  of  it  travelled  far  beyond  seas  whither  do- 
ting children  of  the  heather  carried  them  for  rehearsal 
in  the  hour  of  dream  or  reminiscence.  Decrepit  age 
renews  its  youth  in  telling  how  the  Marquis  cracked 
his  thumbs  in  the  reel  and  his  lady,  daughter  of  a  his- 
toric house,  twirled,  flashing  in  brocade  and  gems,  with 
as  light  a  foot  as  the  trimmest  of  the  lasses.  Baronets 
were  thick  as  daisies  on  the  May  lea,  and  of  the  com- 
monality there  flocked  a  whole  country-side.  How 
changed  the  scene  now!  Where  was  the  ancient 
glory  ? 

The  intervening  half-century  brought  a  rushing 
new  generation  with  unheroic  standards  and  unholy 
ideas  of  progress.  A  grasping,  greedy  world  laid  a 

i 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


ruthless  hand  on  Dunveagle,  wrested  it  from  an  im- 
memorial race,  and  set  up  within  its  antique  halls  a 
degenerate  fustian  grandeur  that  was  to  the  old  order 
as  tinsel  to  gold.  Now  after  a  brigade  of  southern 
botchers  had  completed  their  vandalism  under  plea  of 
renovating  and  modernising,  the  new  master  was  tak- 
ing possession ;  and  lo !  instead  of  Highland  pipes  an 
Italian  string  band  strumming  lifeless  foreign  trash, 
and  instead  of  pinewood  torches  electric  jets  clustered 
among  the  ivy  like  a  swarm  of  fantastic  fire-flies,  and 
heathenish  lights,  miscalled  fairy,  that  cast  on  rhodo- 
dendron and  sycamore  sickly  hues  of  blood. 

"  Tawdry,  awful  tawdry,"  said  the  veterans,  spitting 
in  contempt.  "  Tinklers'  tinnies  giving  themselves  the 
airs  of  gold  and  siller  cups.  What  next  ?  "  Whither 
had  the  native  spirit  fled,  that  no  one  in  authority  gave 
a  thought  to  old  ways,  old  tastes,  old  customs,  old  fam- 
ilies, or  old  friendships?  Where  was  reverence,  that 
brazen  pride  vaunted  itself  thus?  where  the  ancient 
race-honour  that  the  records  of  the  chiefs  of  Dun- 
veagle were  wiped  out,  even  as  the  schoolboy  wipes  his 
scrawl  off  a  slate  ?  What  was  the  cause  of  degeneracy  ? 
Money,  money,  money;  men,  honour,  tradition,  all 
that  quickened  honest  pride,  all  the  heart  held  dear, 
bartered  for  money. 

And  the  new  master,  who  was  he  ?  Duncan  Ogil- 
vie,  son  of  John  Ogilvie,  who,  as  his  critics  well  re- 
membered, had  once  been  fain  to  warm  himself  in  the 
smile  of  the  MacLean.  The  patriarchs  of  Glenveagle 
bobbed  their  heads,  moralising  drearily.  They  had 
seen  some  strange,  some  dramatic  changes ;  ay,  indeed, 
many  strange  dramatic  changes,  but  none  so  strange, 
so  dramatic  as  this.  Ah,  dear !  who  could  tell  what  the 
world  was  coming  to  ?  Nevertheless,  a  living  dog  be- 
ing of  more  consequence  than  a  dead  lion,  the  old 

2 


A    HOME-COMING 


laird's  tenants  were  ready  with  an  address  of  welcome 
to  the  new. 

From  a  rocky  perch  two  miles  away  a  white- 
headed  man  looked  down  on  the  scene  of  revolution 
and  gaiety,  his  heart  bursting  with  rage  and  revenge. 
It  was  Alan  MacLean,  whose  majority  had  been  the 
occasion  of  the  gala-night  fifty  years  before.  He  had 
resolved  not  to  witness  that  ultimate  passing  of  his 
heritage  to  another,  to  be  away  in  Edinburgh,  or  Lon- 
don, or  Paris,  anywhere,  so  only  that  his  eyes  might 
be  spared  the  sight  of  consummated  ruin  and  disgrace. 
But  the  fate  which  baffled  him  in  big  things  seemed 
likewise  to  thwart  him  in  small.  A  careless  leap  over  a 
runnel  among  the  heather  in  sheep-driving,  and  he 
was  down  with  a  sprained  ankle.  Ian  Mackern,  known 
far  and  wide  as  Ian  Veg,  because  of  his  diminutive 
stature — Ian,  who  was  his  faithful  companion,  related 
that  for  full  five  minutes  he  lay  where  he  fell,  using 
language  which  chilled  the  blood  under  a  blazing-  sun. 
The  testimony  is  weighty,  since  only  words  of  unholy 
power  could  have  so  affected  Ian  Veg.  Eased  a  little  by 
the  use  of  expletives,  the  laird  turned  to  his  attendant. 
"  Ian  Veg,"  says  he,  with  a  gleam  of  that  humour 
which  was  his  good  angel,  "  d'ye  think  now  I'm  worth 
taking  home  ?  If  it  was  another  man  who  was  so 
clumsy,  I'd  say  he  deserved  to  lie  where  he  blundered. 
But  I'll  just  leave  the  matter  to  you." 

The  next  minute  Ian  was  trudging  through  the 
heath,  bent  double  under  Dunveagle.  The  burden  was 
lighter  than  it  seemed,  for  though  the  laird  was  a  man 
of  inches,  as  became  a  chieftain,  six  feet  two  on  mother 
soles,  he  was  lean  as  a  greyhound. 

"  The  waist  of  a  girl  and  the  clean  shank  of  a  deer  " 
was  lan's  description  of  his  master;  and  in  truth,  the 
present  difficulty  was  one  of  length  rather  than  of 

3 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


weight :  for  the  man  above  being  so  long  and  the  man 
beneath  so  short,  it  was  a  hard  matter  to  keep  the  hurt 
foot  off  the  heather. 

The  laird  was  delivered  into  the  tender  hands  of 
Janet,  lan's  wife ;  but  he  must  needs  do  the  bandaging 
himself,  and  he  did  it  in  a  smother  of  self-anger.  As 
for  the  pain,  he  gave  no  sign  of  suffering ;  his  mouth 
was  tight,  his  face  grimly  set  as  if  he  dared  the  worst 
and  were  defiant.  The  binding  done,  he  took  to  a 
back  room,  rumbling  angrily  like  an  incipient  earth- 
quake. 

"  Can  I  bring  you  anything  to  read,  sir  ?  "  asked 
Janet,  touched  by  the  pathos  of  the  disabled,  desolate 
figure. 

"  Read !  "  he  cried.  "  God's  sake,  woman,  what  do 
I  want  with  reading  ?  But  if  you  bring  me  something 
to  kick,  I'll  be  obliged  to  you." 

"  I  was  thinking,  sir,  reading  will  be  better  than 
kicking,"  rejoined  Janet,  who  was  privileged  and  not 
afraid  to  take  liberties. 

"  Oh,  exactly  so,"  he  retorted  in  a  tone  half  of  ban- 
ter, half  of  displeasure.  "  Exactly  so.  Spectacles,  an 
arm-chair  and  a  meek  spirit  for  the  maimed  and  the 
halt.  Add  an  old  wife's  posset  and  be  done  with  it.  I'll 
tell  you  one  thing  you  might  do,  Janet,"  he  added,  his 
eyes  beginning  to  smile ;  "  you  might  bring  me  my 
pipe.  Tobacco's  the  only  friend  that's  always  the 
same."  And  when  he  was  pulling  like  a  philosopher — 
"  So  you'd  set  dislocated  joints  and  mend  damaged 
tendons  with  reading.  That  minds  me  of  the  fellow 
who  recommended  whistling  as  a  cure  for  the  tooth- 
ache. Not  long  ago  I  saw  it  proved  by  a  syllogism 
that  books,  like  men  and  women,  are  not  always  what 
they're  thought  to  be.  But  you'll  never  have  heard  of 
a  syllogism,  Janet." 

4 


A    HOME-COMING 


"  No,  sir,"  answered  Janet,  as  if  ignorance  were  a 
crime. 

"  Don't  fret,"  said  the  laird  soothingly.  "  Thank 
God  you  know  all  about  scones." 

Janet's  face  brightened. 

"  And  the  pickling  of  salmon,  sir." 

"  Especially  when  it's  poached,  you  old  jade  ;  espe- 
cially when  it's  poached.  You've  made  hare  soup  in 
your  time,  also ;  and  I'll  say  this,  that  in  patties  you're 
an  artist,  not  to  speak  of  collops  and  toddy.  You've  a 
way  with  a  braxy  ham,  too,  that  makes  the  mouth 
water  at  the  thought  of  it.  Yes,  you're  a  woman  of 
accomplishments,  Janet,  though  you  don't  know  how 
to  cook  a  syllogism." 

"  If  you  tell  me  about  it,  sir,  I'll  try,"  said  Janet 
modestly,  whereat  the  laird  roared  to  the  forgetting  of 
his  anger  and  his  sprained  ankle. 

"  It's  too  dry,  Janet,"  he  replied,  wiping  his  eyes. 
"  You  could  make  nothing  of  it,  for  all  the  fat  in  Glen- 
veagle  wouldn't  soften  it.  It's  fit  neither  for  roasting 
nor  boiling,  for  stewing  nor  frying.  We  won't  have 
syllogism  for  dinner,  thank  you.  As  to  the  reading,  let 

me  see "  He  cast  his  eye  on  a  remote  shelf  near 

the  ceiling,  on  which  reposed  some  dusty  volumes. 

"  There's  a  book  up  there  on  Eternal  Punishment, 
Janet,"  he  said.  "  My  mother's  sister — the  Colonel's 
wife,  you  mind — left  it  to  me  thinking  I  needed  a 
warning,  and  I've  never  opened  it.  Hand  it  down : 
we'll  see  what  the  fellow  makes  of  hell."  His  face  grew 
suddenly  grim.  "  If  it's  worse  than  some  places  you 
and  I  know,  Janet,  we  owe  the  ancient  enemy  our  sym- 
pathy." 

Three  days  he  kept  to  the  rear  part  of  the  house, 
moving,  with  lan's  aid,  from  his  bedroom  to  his  sitting- 
room,  and  back  again  from  his  sitting-room  to  his  bed- 

5 


A  SON  OF   GAD 


room.  On-  the  fourth  day,  which  completed  the 
enemy's  triumph,  he  became  explosively  irritable, 
poured  upon  Ian  a  torrent  of  wrath  that  would  have 
cost  any  other  man  a  broken  head,  fell  foul  of  Janet's 
cookery,  cursed  the  writer  on  theology  for  "  a  doiter- 
ing  idiot,"  and  cast  his  book  into  the  empty  grate  as  in 
token  of  the  burning  it  deserved.  All  afternoon  he  sat 
glooming  at  the  crags  through  the  little  square  of  a 
window,  fierce,  silent,  foodless,  an  incarnation  of  ran- 
kling misery  and  smouldering  fury. 

When  Dunveagle  woods  began  to  darkle  in  the 
gloaming  his  anguish  became  an  unbearable  fever. 
When  the  woods  were  black  and  night  had  seized  upon 
the  topmost  hill,  he  crept  out  surreptitiously,  leaning 
on  his  staff,  and  hirpling  to  the  front  looked  down  on 
the  lights  effusively  welcoming  another  to  his  home, 
the  home  of  his  fathers  for  untold  generations,  the 
home  taken  from  him  by  rapine  and  chicanery.  And 
as  he  gazed,  the  set  of  the  wind  being  towards  him, 
there  was  borne  to  his  ears  the  sound  of  cheering. 
They  had  come,  the  usurpers  had  come,  and  time- 
servers  and  lick-spittles  were  shouting  in  their  honour. 
Janet,  who  had  seen  him  go  forth  and  lurked  behind  in 
the  shadows,  lest,  as  she  explained  to  Ian,  he  might  be 
tempted  "  to  put  a  hand  on  himself "  in  that  moment 
of  agony,  Janet  watching  stealthily  while  she  held  her 
breath  in  terror,  averred  she  distinctly  heard  a  groan. 
Possibly  she  was  right;  for  the  laird  fancied  himself 
alone,  and  was  suffering  mortally.  But  if  so,  the 
groaning  mood  must  have  passed  instantly.  For  the 
next  moment  Janet's  heart  stopped  as  she  saw  him 
drop  by  the  rocky  parapet  and  turn  his  face  to  the  sky. 

"  I  thought  that  maybe  he  had  found  grace,"  she 
afterwards  related ;  "  that  the  waters  of  bitterness  and 
the  bread  of  affliction  made  him  know  his  own  weak- 

6 


A    HOME-COMING 


ness.  But  understanding  of  weakness  was  never  the 
way  of  the  MacLeans.  He  prayed,  ay,  he  prayed ;  but 
his  words,  mercy  on  us  that  mouth  of  man  should  utter 
them !  '  Oh,  Lord/  he  cried — and  ye  never  heard 
such  pleading  from  a  minister  in  yer  life,  for  it  was 
burning  hot  from  the  heart  of  him — '  Oh,  Lord,  as 
Thou  art  strong  and  lovest  justice,  help  me  to  be 
avenged.'  There  was  more,"  added  Janet,  "  but  I  was 
too  feared  to  listen,  for  he  was  uncanny,  and  I  just 
boltit  in  by  dreepin'  with  cold  sweat." 

Thus  from  his  craggy  retreat  the  dispossessed  wit- 
nessed the  triumphal  arrival  of  the  new  master  of  Dun- 
veagle. 


CHAPTER   II 

HOSTILITIES — SOME  ADVENTURES  AND   THE   RESULT 

FOR  well-nigh  a  century  the  lairds  of  Dunveagle 
had  had  their  backs  to  the  wall  in  sore  unequal  battle. 
The  latest  of  the  line  fought  hardest  of  all,  repulsing 
harpy  lawyers  and  greasy  money-lenders,  even  sousing 
them,  for  sake  of  cleanliness,  in  the  horse-pond, 
double-locking  and  barricading  his  great  iron-clamped 
door,  and  planting  himself  grimly  behind  loopholed 
walls,  musket  in  hand,  to  give  besiegers  the  welcome 
of  the  desperate.  Once  he  condescended  to  seek  help, 
and  old  friends  turned  cold.  The  effect  was  to  stiffen 
Dunveagle's  back,  to  make  him  stand  with  feller  pur- 
pose behind  his  ramparts,  the  poison  of  a  new  hate 
embittering  the  old  feud. 

His  wife,  who  stood  to  him  as  mate  and  second 
right  arm,  fell  in  the  fray,  the  victim  of  the  wolves  and 
beagles.  In  the  heyday  of  romance,  when  a  crowd  of 
suitors  hung  on  the  smile  of  the  lovely  and  spirited 
girl,  he  had  been  victor  against  tremendous  odds. 
Ladies  in  the  bloom  and  ardour  of  youth  are  captivated 
by  a  straightforward  gallant  siege,  and  Alan  MacLean 
was  the  very  model  of  gallantry.  The  song  of  a  local 
bard  celebrates,  not  unworthily,  in  the  gay  style  of 
"  Lochinvar,"  the  moonlit  ride  on  the  crupper  which 
made  the  beauty  of  a  county  mistress  of  Dunveagle. 
Her  rich  friends  never  condoned  the  crime  of  "  mar- 

8 


HOSTILITIES 


rying  a  pauper,"  nor  did  she  once  regret  it,  for  Alan 
was  a  lover  to  the  close.  What  if  she,  who  had  been  so 
delicately  nurtured,  fared  hard?  Was  the  fare  not 
mystically  sweetened?  Give  a  true  woman  love,  and 
she  will  return  tenfold,  ay,  an  hundredfold,  in  heroism, 
only  she  must  have  the  abiding  passion  of  the  strong 
man  hardened  and  proved  in  conflict  with  the  world, 
the  deep,  absorbing  glow  as  of  anthracite — not  the 
prattled  fatuities,  the  sentimental  fictions  of  the  moon- 
struck boy.  The  storms  beat  upon  Dunveagle,  and 
made  the  young  wife's  loyalty  invincible. 

For  a  moment  at  the  home-coming  Alan's  own 
heart  misgave  him.  "  This  is  all  I  have  to  offer,"  he 
said,  with  a  doleful  droop  of  the  countenance,  and  cer- 
tainly the  mouldering  castle  never  sfemed  barer  or 
bleaker  than  in  contrast  with  the  sumptuous  mansion 
she  had  left.  Instead  of  looking  round  to  see  the  bleak- 
ness and  the  bareness  for  herself,  she  looked  straight 
into  his  doubting  eyes.  "  I  didn't  elope  to  make  stone 
walls  and  upholstery  my  husband,"  she  answered  light- 
ly. And  there  was  no  more  doubting. 

When  she  dropped  by  his  side  MacLean  lost  both 
heart  and  second  right  arm.  Necessity  made  him  still 
a  fighter,  and  love  for  her  turned  him  into  an  avenger. 
But  a  man  beset  by  misfortune  is  as  a  treasure-ship  in 
the  midst  of  pirates,  or  a  hare  among  closing  hounds. 
When  death  had  momentarily  weakened  the  defences 
a  lurking  foe  gained  entrance  to  Dunveagle.  Word  of 
the  black  treachery  reached  Alan  by  the  open  grave, 
and  those  who  beheld  his  face  had  ever  after  a  haunt- 
ing vision  of  desperation.  As  if  to  make  the  stroke 
doubly  cruel,  two  sounds,  each  like  the  cry  of  doom, 
rang  in  his  ears  together.  According  to  custom,  the 
dead  woman's  only  child,  a  boy  of  five,  held  a  cord  as 
the  coffin  was  let  down.  All  went  solemnly  and  quietly 
2  9 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


until  little  Norman,  suddenly  realising  that  "  Mama  " 
was  going  from  him  forever,  broke  into  a  shriek  of  ter- 
ror, at  the  same  time  pulling  frantically  to  get  her  back. 
The  grief-stricken  father  had  hardly  disengaged  the 
tiny,  fiercely  clutching  fingers,  his  own  shaking  as  with 
palsy,  when  the  white-faced  messenger  despatched  by 
Janet  appeared,  panting  out  his  cry  of  alarm. 

Dunveagle  wheeled  about,  the  blood  at  his  heart 
frozen.  For  one  moment  he  gazed  in  stupefaction,  his 
face  blank  and  ghastly,  like  the  face  of  a  stunned 
man.  Then  all  at  once  it  quivered  in  living  pain,  and 
his  hands  clenched  spasmodically. 

"  What !  "  he  cried,  striding  forward  as  if  he  would 
seize  and  choke  the  bringer  of  bad  news.  "  What  is 
this  you  tell  me  ?  " 

The  messenger  repeated  his  tale  in  pants  and  sobs, 
for  he  had  run  desperately,  and  at  that  the  livid  dark- 
ness of  tempest  overspread  the  countenance  of  Dun- 
veagle. 

"  This  is  the  honour  of  the  law,"  he  said  brokenly, 
turning  back  to  the  open  grave.  "  You're  better  there, 
my  poor  Kate,"  looking  at  the  forlorn  coffin  in  the  nar- 
row depth  below.  "  Ay,  much  better,  much  better !  " 

A  little  soft  hand  crept  nestling  into  his,  and  an 
awed,  tear-stained  face  was  lifted  in  inquiry.  Uncon- 
sciously he  patted  the  boy's  head. 

"  Norman,  dear,"  he  said,  striving  to  speak  calmly, 
"  I  am  called  away  on  urgent  business  at  the  castle. 
You'll  stay  and  see  mother  happed.  And  you,  sir,"  to 
the  minister  interrupted  in  the  last  sad  rites  of  religion, 
"  will  not  forget  a  bit  prayer  for  us  all.  As  God's  in 
heaven,  we  need  it." 

Again  he  bent  forward  over  the  open  grave,  and 
hands  went  out  instinctively,  so  like  a  falling  man  he 
seemed. 

10 


HOSTILITIES 

"  Good-bye,  Kate,"  he  said  in  a  half  sob.  "  Good- 
bye, my  brave,  loyal  little  woman;  I  didn't  think  to 
leave  you  like  this.  Good-bye.  You'll  understand  and 
forgive.  Good-bye — good-bye." 

He  turned  to  the  company,  drawing  his  hand  across 
his  eyes  as  if  to  free  them  of  mist. 

"  Friends,"  he  said,  and  the  strong  voice  shook,  "  I 
leave  her  to  you.  Do  to  her  as  you  would  be  done  by 
in  the  last  hour,  and  God  requite  you.  Kilross,"  ad- 
dressing an  old  friend,  "  can  I  have  your  riding  horse  ? 
You  can  have  my  place  in  the  carriage." 

With  that  he  mounted  and  rode,  his  features 
wrought  in  a  passion  of  grief,  anger  and  vengeance.  If 
ever  you  have  known  a  man  go  forth  quietly  and  pur- 
posefully with  the  set  face  of  one  determined  to  kill, 
you  may  picture  his  look. 

Half  an  hour  after  he  passed  through  the  kirkyard 
gate  a  foaming,  wild-eyed  horse  drew  up,  panting,  at 
the  castle  ddor.  Janet  ran  out  to  meet  her  master,  her 
face  wrung  with  anguish,  and  behind  her  in  the  great 
hall  appeared  a  man — a  stranger. 

"  Janet,  woman,  will  you  dry  your  eyes  and 
hold  this  horse  ? "  said  Dunveagle,  with  a  terrible 
composure  of  manner.  He  threw  her  the  rein  and 
strode  in. 

"  What  have  we  here  ?  "  he  cried,  eyeing  the  varlets 
of  the  law.  "  Sneaks  and  interlopers  who  steal  into  a 
man's  house  at  the  heels  of  death.  God's  sake!  but 
you're  a  bonnie  lot." 

He  was  one  against  three,  and  hampered  by  ter- 
rorised, screaming  women ;  but  in  less  than  five  minutes 
the  varlets  were  out,  two  holding  cracked  heads,  and 
the  third,  as  it  appeared,  bleeding  to  the  death.  Dun- 
veagle followed  them  to  the  doorstep.  "  That's  our 
plan  with  the  like  of  you,"  he  cried  in  a  white  fury. 

II 


A  SON  OF   GAD 


"  By  the  heaven  above,  I'll  ride  the  life  out  of  you  be- 
side the  door  you  have  desecrated." 

He  was  flinging  himself  on  his  horse  to  trample 
them  when  Janet  clutched  him  by  the  knees. 

"  Master,  dear,  don't  do  murder,"  she  pleaded. 
Her  weeping  suddenly  stopped  in  this  development  of 
the  tragedy.  "  For  her  sake  that's  gone,  don't  do 
murder." 

He  drew  back,  the  hard  breath  rattling  in  his  throat, 
and  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"  '  For  her  sake  that's  gone,'  "  he  repeated  hoarse- 
ly. "  Ay,  for  her  sake.  Thank  you,  Janet,  for  mind- 
ing me.  They  can  go." 

They  went  crawling,  bandaged  and  miserable,  to 
protest  against  being  sent  to  distrain  on  the  devil. 

At  that  point  an  oily  lawyer  in  Perth  intervened. 
He  began  by  writing  letters  which  Dunveagle  treated 
with  silent  disdain.  But  presently  the  penwiper  set  in 
motion  certain  obscure  machinery  which  one  day 
brought  a  sheriff's  officer  and  a  posse  of  county  police 
to  the  castle  gate.  Denied  admittance,  they  climbed 
the  wall  and  tried  a  back  door,  which  was  impregnable. 
Then,  like  scouts  gingerly  feeling  about  an  enemy's 
fortress,  they  moved  round  by  the  front,  and  there 
Dunveagle  himself  awaited  them.  The  sequel  is  still 
the  delight  of  many  a  winter  fireside. 

"  And  what  may  the  whole  police  force  of  Perth 
want  at  Dunveagle  Castle  ?  "  he  asked  affably,  caress- 
ing a  gleaming,  long-barrelled  gun.  He  stood  before 
the  black  stone  entrance,  and  behind  him  in  the  twi- 
light of  the  great  hall  were  ranged  his  boy  Norman, 
also  fondling  a  gun ;  Ian  Veg,  with  a  hacked,  rusty  Fer- 
rara  still  bearing  marks  of  blood ;  and  Janet,  grasping 
a  huge  oak  cudgel. 

"  I  must  crave  your  pardon,"  quoth  Dunveagle, 
12 


HOSTILITIES 

looking  forth  on  the  warlike  array,  "  for  having  to  ask 
the  reason  of  this  honour.  I  would  fain  remember  the 
rites  of  hospitality  and  the  feelings  of  men  who  may 
have  breakfasted  somewhat  hastily  and  lightly.  For- 
give a  blunt  question.  What  is  it  brings  you  here  ?  " 

Beguiled  by  the  soft  words  and  the  engaging  man- 
ner, the  sheriff's  officer  stepped  briskly  forward,  but 
next  instant  drew  yet  more  briskly  back,  for  Dun- 
veagle's  gun  had  gone  up  with  a  purposeful  motion. 

"  Better  stay,"  he  remarked  urbanely,  "  until  we 
have  had  something  more  of  a  confab  before  shaking 
hands.  As  you  may  suppose,  it  goes  against  my 
stomach  to  be  rude,  even  to  self-invited  guests.  But  if 
we  were  to  come  together  too  quickly  and  disagree  on 
a  chance  word  or  act,  it's  hard  to  tell  what  might  come 
of  it.  So  we'd  better  begin  by  understanding  each 
other.  Will  you  state  in  as  few  words  as  possible  ex- 
actly what  it  is  you  want,  or  on  whose  behalf  you  have 
come?  " 

Thereupon  the  sheriff's  officer,  unfolding  a  big  blue 
paper,  began  to  read.  At  the  third  sentence  Dun- 
veagle  interrupted.  "  The  name's  quite  sufficient,"  he 
said  peremptorily.  "  I  know  all  about  the  wee  Jew 
body  in  Perth.  By  his  way  of  it  I  owe  so  much  prin- 
cipal and  so  much  interest,  which  he  reckons  on  a 
plan  of  his  own,  the  miserable  son  of  Belial.  I  under- 
stand he  got  the  money  from  the  bank  on  my  note  of 
hand." 

"  And  paid  it  back  when  the  bill  was  dishonoured," 
said  the  other. 

"  I'm  glad  he  had  the  grace  to  do  that,"  rejoined 
Dunveagle.  "  I  wouldn't  like  the  bank  to  lose.  I've 
no  quarrel  with  the  bank.  Well,  if  he  knocks  off 
seventy-five  per  cent,  of  the  interest,  I'm  ready  to 
renew." 

13 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


The  sheriff's  officer  answered  he  had  nothing  to  do 
with  renewals,  that  what  he  wanted  was  cash  or  its 
equivalent,  and  hinted  he  meant  to  be  satisfied. 

Dunveagle  threw  his  chin  in  the  air. 

"  Sits  the  wind  so  harsh  as  all  that  ? "  he  said. 
"  There  may  be  two  opinions,  but  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing you've  come  for  a  Highland  man's  breeks  this 
time." 

The  sheriff's  officer  looked  round  and  up  the  castle 
front ;  they  might  possibly  get  breeks  off  this  particular 
Highlandman. 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  returned  Dunveagle.  "  By 
my  reading  ye've  come  all  this  way  to  roup  me,  to 
seize,  harry,  and  sell,  just  to  please  a  damn  wee  black, 
garlic-eating  Jew,  who  must  have  been  wet-nursed  by 
a  she-wolf,  and  got  his  notions  of  honest  dealing  from 
Judas  Iscariot.  Am  I  right  ?  " 

The  sheriff's  officer  answered  in  the  affirmative  as 
to  the  main  fact. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Dunveagle  very  deliberately, 
"  if  you  take  the  trouble  to  put  yourselves  in  my  place, 
as  fair  and  reasonable  men  you'll  perceive  objections — 
first,  that  the  garlic-eating  son  of  Judas  aforesaid  is  a 
foreigner,  an  extortioner,  and  a  usurer  who  cheats  in 
bad  English,  claps  thirty  shillings  to  the  pound,  calling 
it  interest,  and  gets  you  sent  to  make  me  pay  what  I 
don't  owe ;  second,  that  it's  part  of  a  Christian's  creed 
to  resist  Israelitish  usurers  and  extortioners,  though 
they  were  clothed  with  the  sanctity  of  old  Abraham, 
who  knew  as  well  as  most  folk  on  which  side  his  bread 
was  buttered;  third,  that  I  owe  but  a  small  part  of 
what  the  Jew  demands ;  fourth,  that  I'd  like  to  enter- 
tain the  gentleman  himself  in  this  matter  of  collection ; 
and  fifthly  and  particularly,  that  I  have  the  plain  man's 
dislike  of  being  roupit.  You'll  agree  with  that." 

14 


HOSTILITIES 


The  sheriff's  officer  would  neither  agree  nor  dis- 
agree ;  he  had  not  come  to  argue. 

"  Oh,  well,  there's  one  thing  I'm  thinking  you  will 
agree  in,"  said  Dunveagle,  drawing  himself  up  more 
haughtily,  "  and  it's  this :  A  man  of  your  knowledge 
will  have  heard  that  possession  is  nine  points  of  the 
law,  and  as  you  have  at  this  present  moment  just  one 
point  in  your  favour  to  my  nine,  I'm  of  opinion  you'll 
agree  it  would  be  wise  to  show  the  valour  which  is 
called  discretion,  because  I  tell  you  candidly,  as  be- 
tween man  and  man,  that  he  who  tries  to  enter  my 
house  by  force  had  better  set  about  it  by  saying  his 
prayers,  for  it  would  be  too  late  to  say  them  when  the 
trial's  made.  That's  told  you  to  save  misunderstand- 
ing and  trouble.  But  as  we  like  to  be  hospitable  in  the 
Highlands  here,  I  wouldn't  have  you  go  away  empty. 
I  think  there's  a  drop  of  old  ale  left,  or  would  you 
prefer  a  dram  to  hearten  you  ?  " 

Obliged  to  decline  such  hospitality,  the  sheriff's 
officer  was  proceeding  to  restate  his  business,  when 
Dunveagle  interposed. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  he  said ;  "  Ian,"  casting  a  glance 
over  his  shoulder,  "  the  gentlemen  will  not  drink." 
With  which  he  stepped  quickly  back,  and  banged  the 
door  in  the  amazed  face  of  the  law. 

The  laugh  was  momentarily  on  his  side,  but  in  the 
end  it  proved  frightfully  dear,  as  such  jests  are  apt  to 
be,  and  added  its  purgatorial  tortures  on  the  night, 
long  after,  when  old,  lame,  and  impotently  furious,  he 
looked  down  from  the  clifty  heights  of  Craigenard  on 
the  son  of  the  man  once  banished  by  his  will,  returning 
to  take  possession  of  Dunveagle. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  BANKS  OF   OHIO  :  AN   UNEXPECTED   MEETING 

MACLEAN  of  Dunveagle  and  his  tenant,  John  Ogil- 
vie  of  Craigenard,  disagreed  over  a  trifle  not  worth 
remembering,  and  the  dispute  waxed  into  a  quarrel. 
Though  at  bottom  generous,  both  were  hot  when  their 
whiskers  were  pulled,  and  one  was  naturally  inclined 
to  be  imperious.  Wherefore  it  came  that  the  weaker 
man  went  to  the  wall,  overcome  by  an  arbitrary  exer- 
cise of  authority,  that  is  to  say,  John  Ogilvie  was  in- 
formed, in  a  moment  of  passion,  that  after  a  certain 
date,  already  near,  he  would  no  longer  be  suffered  to 
remain  at  Craigenard.  The  injured  man,  full  of  fiery 
resentment,  took  passage  to  America  with  his  young 
wife  and  their  child  Duncan,  a  yellow-haired,  wide- 
eyed  toddler,  who  thus  went  forth  into  the  great  world 
appropriately  holding  his  mother's  skirt.  Then  the 
twin  satirists,  Time  and  Chance,  took  a  hand  in  the 
game,  with  results  which  made  moralists  eloquent  over 
the  freaks  of  destiny.  Driven  in  his  turn  from  the  old 
home,  MacLean  took  refuge  in  Craigenard,  a  remnant 
left  to  him  in  the  general  wreck  of  his  fortune,  and  an 
Ogilvie  filled  his  place  in  Dunveagle.  Fate  was  giving 
one  of  her  high  lessons  in  dramaturgy  :  putting  the  first 
last,  making  the  least  greatest,  exalting  lowliness, 
humbling  pride. 

John  Ogilvie  had  been  a  saturnine,  brooding  manj 
16 


THE   BANKS   OF  OHIO 


shrewd,  energetic,  sentimental,  magnanimous,  yet 
withal  unforgetting  and  in  certain  cases  unforgiving, 
as  all  good  Highlanders  are.  Though  he  prospered  on 
the  Ohio  farm,  the  memory  of  the  injustice  which  made 
him  an  exile  rankled  in  his  mind,  and  often  when  he 
was  among  the  maize  he  dreamed  of  the  heather.  It 
became  a  family  custom  when  the  winter  logs  blazed 
on  the  great  hearth,  and  wind  and  snow,  it  might  be 
with  blizzard  force,  lashed  the  stout  double  windows, 
in  the  ruddy  warmth  of  the  winter  fireside  it  became 
the  custom  to  beguile  the  evening  with  tales  of  home 
and  the  olden  time,  which  grew  ever  the  more  vivid 
with  the  passing  of  the  years.  As  he  recited  the  stories 
and  legends  of  his  early  life,  John  Ogilvie  was  by 
turns  strangely  wistful  and  strangely  excited ;  occa- 
sionally, too,  a  chance  reference  brought  to  his  face  the 
black  look  of  one  who  mentally  rehearses  a  deep 
wrong. 

One  night,  while  the  corners  of  his  mouth  were  still 
grim  from  such  a  rehearsal,  he  found  himself  alone  in 
the  stable  with  his  boy. 

"  Duncan,"  he  said,  under  a  sudden  impulse,  "  I 
have  something  to  tell  you."  And  point  by  point  he 
went  over  the  cause  of  their  exile,  dwelling  in  rough, 
blunt  words  on  the  laird  of  Dunveagle's  harshness. 
The  boy  listened  first  in  wonder  and  then  in  a  tingling 
indignation. 

"  Father,"  he  cried,  when  the  tale  was  done,  his 
eyes  flashing  vengefully,  "  I'll  make  them  all  smart  yet. 
We'll  go  back,  see  if  we  don't.  Ay,"  he  repeated,  his 
hands  clenched  as  if  he  were  already  at  grips  with  the 
enemy,  "  we'll  go  back — maybe  to  Dunveagle  itself." 

John  Ogilvie  smiled  as  one  smiles  at  a  bright  im- 
possibility. Nevertheless,  his  face  glowed  in  a  pleasure 
of  anticipation. 

17 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


"  That  wouldn't  be  easy,  Dunk,"  he  returned 
slowly.  "  At  home  in  Scotland  I  was  taught  not  to  put 
my  trust  in  money.  I  won't  say  the  lesson  was  wrong, 
though  if  I  had  had  a  little  more  ready  money  at  the 
critical  moment,  we  mightn't  be  here.  It  would  take  a 
heap  of  siller  to  do  what  you  speak  of." 

"  We'll  get  the  siller,  father,"  returned  Duncan, 
with  the  quick  assurance  of  youth ;  "  we'll  get  the 
siller." 

He  ran  to  his  mother,  who  was  preparing  a  plain 
Scot's  supper,  for  they  cherished  their  Scottish  tastes 
and  habits. 

"  Mother,"  he  cried  eagerly,  "  how  would  you  like 
to  go  back  to  Craigenard  ?  " 

She  turned  on  him  a  startled  face. 

"  Laddie,"  she  demanded,  "  what  are  ye  havering 
about  ?  If  I  had  but  a  sprig  of  heather  from  Craigenard 
or  a  trout  out  of  the  Veagle  water,  I'd  count  myself 
happy.  Dunkie,  dear,  what's  been  turning  your  head  ? 
I'm  afraid  we've  seen  for  the  last  time  the  bloom  on  the 
hills  of  Craigenard  and  the  sun  shining  on  the  bonnie 
woods  of  Dunveagle." 

And  she  bent  abruptly  forward  to  stir  the  porridge, 
her  face  twitching. 

Half  that  night  the  boy  lay  dreaming,  Craigenard 
and  Dunveagle  mingling  feverishly  in  his  visions. 
What  he  wanted  was  money ;  money,  the  mighty  ma- 
gician that  seemed  to  perform  all  the  wonders  of  the 
world.  By  scraping  the  family  could  furnish  perhaps 
a  hundred  dollars  in  ready  cash.  That  would  not  even 
suffice  for  their  passage  back.  He  must  make  money, 
and  make  it  speedily,  not  merely  enough  for  a  voyage 
home,  but  a  huge  fortune. 

Within  a  fortnight  he  was  a  junior  clerk  in  the 
freight  department  of  a  great  American  railroad,  at 

18 


THE  BANKS   OF   OHIO 


the  dazzling  salary  of  three  dollars  a  week.  An  observ- 
ant freight  agent  saw,  noted,  and  commented.  "  I 
reckon  the  youngster'll  do,"  he  said,  expectorating  half 
a  pint  of  liquid  tobacco  by  way  of  emphasis.  "  Yes,  sir, 
I  reckon  he'll  do." 

The  prediction  was  so  much  to  the  point  that  in  five 
years  the  youngster  was  directing  the  policy  of  that 
freight  agent.  For  ten  more  he  tossed  and  jostled  in 
the  strife  for  place,  passing  to  and  fro  from  one  railway 
to  another  with  varying  fortune  and  some  trying  ex- 
periences. Midway  up  he  grew  impatient,  and  was 
tempted  to  take  a  hand  in  a  Wall  Street  gamble.  The 
"  boom "  burst  with  sudden  and  disastrous  effects. 
One  evening  Duncan  Ogilvie  accounted  himself  a 
moderately  rich  man,  the  next  he  was  penniless. 

"  Lost  everything,"  he  remarked  quietly,  lighting  a 
cigar.  "  Well,  we  must  see  how  we  are  to  take  it  out 
of  Wall  Street  yet."  A  man  who  takes  reverses  in  that 
spirit  may  be  beaten  once  or  twenty  times,  but  he  is  not 
to  be  conquered.  "  You  bet  Ogilvie'll  have  the  aces 
yet,  and  don't  you  forget  it,"  said  a  fortunate  "  bear  " 
admiringly.  "  I  know  the  man  that  plays  to  win." 
And  again  the  prophecy  was  fulfilled. 

Time  passed,  and  there  came  a  gigantic  scheme  of 
reorganisation  from  which  Duncan  Ogilvie  emerged 
as  president  of  his  original  railroad,  with  a  fortune,  a 
mansion  in  Fifth  Avenue,  and  a  name  among  the 
world's  financiers.  Some  of  his  old  comrades  noted 
that  the  announcement  was  made  exactly  thirty  years 
from  the  day  on  which  he  wrote  his  first  way-bill. 

His  assumption  of  power  inaugurated  a  new  policy 
in  railway  finance.  Before  it  was  division — now  it  was 
unity.  The  railroads  had  been  cut-throat  competitors ; 
it  was  his  to  make  them  allies.  Entering  into  fraternal 
alliance  with  other  presidents,  he  devised  a  "  bull  cam- 

19 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


paign  "  such  as  Wall  Street  had  never  before  seen. 
The  combination  bought  "  for  control,"  the  public  ac- 
cepted the  lead,  and  the  organiser  found  himself  with 
more  millions  than  even  his  financial  genius  could 
use. 

"  I  have  taken  it  out  of  Wall  Street,"  he  said,  with 
a  chuckle,  smoking  nis  cigar  placidly  as  he  had  smoked 
it  in  the  day  of  ruin.  "  That  little  lesson  twelve  years 
ago  has  been  worth  as  many  millions  to  me.  If  you 
would  succeed,  pray  the  gods  to  slap  you  in  the  face  as 
a  start.  It  makes  you  fight  the  better." 

Those  who  envied  his  success,  those  who  were  daz- 
zled by  his  manipulations  not  only  in  Wall  Street,  New 
York,  but  in  Capel  Court,  London,  little  guessed  that 
the  first  inspiration  in  the  career  of  wealth  came  from  a 
rocky  bit  of  moorland  on  the  hill-face  above  the  Veagle 
water.  It  was  his  own  opinion  that  but  for  his  father's 
story  that  night  in  the  stable  he  would  never  have 
quitted  the  Ohio  farm.  From  such  obscure  incentives 
spring  world-moving  events. 

When  the  full  tide  of  prosperity  came,  his  riches 
grew  by  the  compound  process  which  Providence  re- 
serves for  the  gratification  of  millionaires.  Every 
move  meant  triumph  and  loads  of  gold ;  but  in  the 
absorbing  game  of  fortune-making  he  never  forgot  his 
father's  tale  or  the  place  he  had  left.  So  it  came  that 
when  at  last  the  law  ousted  Alan  MacLean  from  Dun- 
veagle,  a  firm  of  London  solicitors  bought  the  estate 
for  Duncan  Ogilvie — a  master-stroke  of  the  great 
dramatist. 

John  Ogilvie  did  not  live  to  see  that  consummation 
of  a  wild  dream,  but  his  wife  did. 

"  Well,  mother  dear,  Dunveagle  at  last,"  said  the 
new  laird  when  the  hubbub  of  welcome  was  over  on  the 
night  of  the  home-coming. 

20 


THE  BANKS   OF   OHIO 


"  My  son,  my  son,"  she  cried,  "  if  those  that  are 
gone  could  but  see  this !  "  and  she  could  say  no  more. 

As  a  girl  she  had  been  privileged  to  peep  on  tiptoe 
at  the  grandeur  of  that  gay  gathering  half  a  century 
before  when  Alan  Mac  Lean  shone  a  jubilant  hero. 
Now  MacLean  crouched  like  a  hurt  eagle  on  his  rock 
above  and  his  castle  was  hers,  to  do  in  as  she  wished. 
Was  she  thrilled  by  a  gratified  pride  ?  elated  by  a  tri- 
umph that  avenged  all  wrongs  ?  If  so,  the  expression 
of  her  emotion  was  singular,  for  stealing  off  for  a 
little  by  herself  she  wept  as  in  grief  or  pain. 

A  little  later  her  granddaughter  took  her  joyously 
to  a  sumptuous  bedroom,  caressed  her  tenderly,  bab- 
bling the  while  like  a  gleeful  child,  and  left  her.  To 
Miss  Constance  Ogilvie  the  fairy  godmother  was 
veritably  throwing  open  the  doors  of  enchanted  castles. 
The  whole  air  was  charmed ;  the  whole  world  radiant. 
Not  that  she  was  vaingloriously  intoxicated;  but  it 
happened  that  she  was  young,  eager,  romantic,  human, 
intensely  human.  Wherefore  her  pulses  danced  gid- 
dily in  the  realisation  of  a  delectable  dream. 

The  elder  woman  had  different  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings. With  a  mother's  pride  she  delighted  in  the 
splendid  success  of  a  son  who  had  the  admiration  of 
the  admired  and  the  envy  of  the  envied.  But  not  the 
richest  upholstery,  nor  the  costliest  lace,  nor  the  soft- 
est down  nor  troops  of  servants,  nor  even  filial  love, 
could  altogether  satisfy  the  heart  that  looked  back. 
She  went  to  bed,  but  could  not  sleep ;  for  fifty  years 
were  unrolled  before  her  mind's  eye.  She  saw  herself 
with  short  skirts  and  blown  hair  running  about  the 
braes.  She  saw  her  father  and  mother,  his  sister,  her 
brother,  her  husband,  young  and  lithe,  now  gone,  all 
gone.  She  went  again  the  bosky  way  by  the  Veagle 
side,  where,  on  a  never-to-be-forgotten  summer  even- 

21 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


ing,  among  the  hazels,  she  heard  the  word  that  sends  a 
quiver  through  the  maiden  heart.  She  saw  herself 
going  home  a  bride  to  Craigenard,  and  leaving  it  for- 
lorn, a  wondering  boy  holding  tightly  to  her  dress. 
And  at  that  last  vision  she  could  lie  no  longer.  Rising 
as  from  awesome  dreams,  she  cast  a  cloak  about  her 
shoulders  and  sat  down  by  the  window.  In  the  glim- 
mering summer  night  she  could  discern  the  dark  out- 
line of  Craigenard  through  an  opening  in  the  woods, 
and  as  she  gazed  with  dimmed  eyes  she  would  have 
given  Dunveagle  ten  times  over  for  one  hour  on  that 
craggy  height  with  those  who  once  made  her  happy 
there.  She  forgot  where  or  how  she  sat.  She  did  not 
know  that  tears  rained  on  the  sable  trimmings  of  the 
cloak,  nor  how  long  she  had  gazed,  when  she  was 
startled  by  the  sudden  rustling  of  bushes  below  her 
window,  as  if  some  one  were  pushing  through  the 
shrubbery.  She  drew  back,  mindful  of  her  dress,  and 
half  intending  to  call  her  son.  But  while  she  hesitated, 
there  came  the  sound  of  voices,  and,  looking  out  again, 
she  saw  Duncan  face  to  face  with  the  intruder. 


22 


CHAPTER   IV 

A  TRYING   INTERVIEW 

LIKE  his  mother,  and  for  similar  reasons,  Duncan 
Ogilvie  also  was  unable  to  sleep.  He  therefore  dressed 
and  stole  out  alone  in  the  hushed  hour  before  the  dawn 
to  prove  to  himself  that  he  was  not  lost  in  a  world  of 
hallucinations.  For  it  was  hard  to  believe  in  the  reality 
of  this  crowning  of  a  life's  ambition,  this  strange  feel- 
ing of  lordship  that  was  partly  joyful,  partly  eerie,  and 
wholly  new. 

It  is  perhaps  given  to  one  man  in  every  hundred 
millions  of  the  race  to  turn  the  dreams  of  youth  to 
actuality  on  the  confines  of  old  age.  Strength,  daring, 
and  good  fortune  are  needed,  and  of  the  happy  con- 
junction Fate  is  a  niggard.  Nevertheless,  she  has  her 
favourites,  whom  the  seneschal  Luck  attends  in  all  their 
ways,  so  that  their  footprints  are  records  of  victory. 
Duncan  Ogilvie  had  outdone  his  utmost  ambition,  yet 
the  habit  of  success  had  not  prepared  him  for  the 
singular  feeling  of  mingled  awe  and  gladness  which 
now  made  a  turmoil  in  his  breast.  Was  the  place 
towards  which  he  had  through  so  many  tumultuous 
years  been  striving  at  last  verily  his?  Were  these  in 
very  truth  Dunveagle  woods,  lying  like  blurred  clouds 
to  the  skyline?  Was  that  the  mystic  crooning  of  the 
Veagle  water  like  the  dying  echo  of  a  far-off  chant  in 
his  ear?  Had  the  boyish  word  come  true,  then? 

23 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


"  '  Are  these  the  links  of  Forth  ?  '  she  cried, 
'  Or  are  they  the  Crooks  of  Dee  ? 
Or  the  bonnie  woods  of  Warroch  head. 
That  I  so  fain  would  see?' ' 

The  rhyme  recalled  an  old  dream.  On  the  night  before 
leaving  Craigenard  his  mother  dreamed  a  dream, 
which  she  related  in  this  wise — 

"  The  Veagle  water  was  in  spate  and  came  roaring 
down  past  Craigenard.  Duncan  fell  in  and  was  car- 
ried away.  I  ran  with  all  my  might  by  the  waterside 
keeping  him  in  sight,  and  I  saw  him  going  on,  on  down 
past  Dunveagle  Castle  till  he  was  lost  in  the  big  river 
below.  And  at  that  I  woke,  dripping  with  fright,  and 
couldn't  go  to  sleep  again.  Next  day,  being  troubled, 
I  told  my  dream  to  a  wise  woman,  old  Kirsty  of  the 
Ness,  long  since  gone  home,  the  dear  body,  for  I  was 
thinking  it  boded  ill,  and  indeed  ill  our  affairs  were 
then  going.  '  Was  the  water  clear  or  drumlie  ? '  says 
she.  '  That  was  the  queer  thing,'  said  I.  '  Though  it 
was  in  spate,  it  was  clear  as  a  well  in  the  rock.' 
'  Then,'  says  she,  '  honey,  if  God  grant  you  days,  you'll 
be  a  proud  woman  yet,  for  Duncan  will  own  every  foot 
of  land  you  saw  him  floating  by.'  "  And,  wonderful  to 
think,  when  Kirsty  had  long  been  dust  her  word  was 
fulfilled.  Every  foot  of  the  land  was  his.  That  was 
the  thought  that  was  so  hard  to  accept,  or  accepting, 
to  realise. 

To  satisfy  a  sudden  yearning  unlike  anything  he 
had  ever  felt  before,  he  had  stolen  out  into  the  dew  for 
a  little  quiet  meditation  while  the  castle  slept.  The  sun 
was  already  up,  kindling  the  great  heights,  ben  after 
ben,  with  a  fire  that  spread  before  his  eyes  till  the  upper 
woods  of  Dunveagle  glowed  in  a  crimson  deluge. 
Leaning  against  the  bole  of  a  big  beech,  he  gazed  en- 
chanted. Yes,  there  were  things  here  which  money 

24 


A  TRYING   INTERVIEW 


could  not  buy,  a  charm  not  to  be  reckoned  in  dollars 
nor  locked  in  strong  rooms  as  security ;  perfume  too 
rare  for  the  market,  pictures  above  the  ken  of  art, 
poetry  beyond  the  poet's  line.  His  city  friends  had 
laughed  at  him  for  a  sentimental  desire  to  be  buried 
among  the  moors ;  would  the  scoffers  could  see  the  col- 
ours dashed  along  the  slopes  and  breathe  the  incense 
of  Dunveagle  at  dawn! 

A  hare,  foraging  for  breakfast,  squatted  a  moment, 
its  ears  cocked,  looking  at  him  as  if  to  ask  the  reason 
for  an  unjustifiable  intrusion ;  a  rabbit  came  nibbling  to 
his  feet ;  a  cock-pheasant  almost  brushed  him  with  its 
wing — his  hare,  his  rabbit,  his  pheasant.  The  sweet- 
ness of  possession  thrilled  through  him.  Dunveagle 
in  the  dewy  summer  dawn  was  paradise,  an  enlarged 
and  glorified  Eden,  and  it  was  his,  his  after  years  of 
hard  toil  and  planning. 

Yet  in  that  very  moment  there  rose  from  the  depths 
of  his  joy  a  wave  of  sadness. 

"  If  only  she  were  here,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  If 
only  she  were  here,"  and  looked  with  a  new  sentiment 
on  the  possessions  spread  out  to  the  morning  light. 

He  had  married  for  simple  love  while  life  was  yet  a 
battle  and  the  victory  far  off.  Ay,  and  she  had  stepped 
with  him  as  comrade  and  inspirer,  suffusing  with  wom- 
anly softness  the  metallic  glare  of  his  existence,  bring- 
ing feminine  grace  into  hard  ways,  keeping  a  sweet 
spot  in  the  heart,  and  ever  drawing  bright  pictures  of 
the  time  when  they  should  go  together  to  the  old 
homeland,  in  fulfilment  of  their  great  dream. 

A  boy  and  girl  came  to  them ;  the  boy  went,  and  his 
mother  pined  and  began  to  look  far  beyond  Dun- 
veagle. One  evening  Ogilvie  returned  home  to  tell  her 
he  had  made  another  million,  but  that  night  she  cared 
no  more  for  millions.  Duncan  Ogilvie  bound  up  his 
3  25 


A   SON   OF   GAD 


heart  and  went  on  with  his  work,  heaping  up  riches 
because  he  could  not  drop  out  of  the  competition.  But 
the  keen  edge  of  joy  was  dulled,  the  ravishing  delight 
gone.  Now,  as  he  thought  of  what  might  have  been, 
a  sharp  pain  smote  through  him.  In  the  worst  of  the 
strife  no  man  had  ever  seen  Duncan  Ogilvie  flinch  or 
blench,  but  anyone  beholding  him  in  that  moment 
under  the  beech  tree  would  have  marked  a  face  pathet- 
ically unlike  the  one  familiar  to  the  world. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  upper  spaces  aflood  with 
rosy  light,  and  the  simple  old  faith  came  back.  Who 
knew :  she  might  be  there,  nay,  she  might  be  nearer, 
thinking  his  thoughts,  sharing  his  sadness  and  his  sat- 
isfaction. He  was  in  this  mood,  when  a  sudden  rus- 
tling of  bushes  made  him  start,  half  in  awe,  half  in 
surprise.  His  mother  watching  above  did  not  hear  the 
challenge,  but  she  heard  the  response. 

"  A  ghost,  sir,  a  ghost,"  came  in  the  northern  ac- 
cent. "  A  poor,  feckless  phantom,  haunting  scenes  of 
past  happiness.  That's  all.  He  craves  forgiveness  for 
the  intrusion  and  the  trespass.  It's  but  the  whim  of 
an  old  man,  hovering  for  a  last  peep  where  he  once 
went  unquestioned." 

A  shaft  of  light  picked  him  out  as  he  spoke,  and 
Mrs.  Ogilvie  peering  down,  uttered  a  stifled  exclama- 
tion, for  through  all  the  disguises  of  time  and  the 
wreckage  of  misfortune  she  recognised  MacLean. 

"  Dunveagle,"  she  said  in  a  gasp,  giving  the  old 
name,  and  it  seemed  she  must  swoon  from  excitement. 
But  the  next  instant  she  was  dressing  with  frantic 
haste.  In  the  days  of  her  poverty  she  had  learned  to 
dress  quickly,  but  it  is  doubtful  if  she  ever  dressed  more 
quickly  than  now.  With  a  hood  over  the  hair  to  save 
time,  and  the  big  cloak  wrapped  tightly  about  her,  she 
went  breathlessly  downstairs,  and  in  another  minute 

26 


A  TRYING  INTERVIEW 


was  beside  her  son.    At  the  sight  of  a  lady  MacLean 
raised  his  bonnet,  bowing  ceremoniously. 

"  You  don't  know  me,  sir,"  she  said,  her  voice 
husky  with  emotion. 

"  Madam,"  was  the  answer,  "  the  light  is  uncertain, 
and  one's  eyes  don't  improve  with  age." 

She  took  a  step  forward. 

"  Will  you  shake  hands  with  John  Ogilvie's 
widow  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  winced  as  if  struck  across  the  face. 

"  John  Ogilvie's  widow,"  he  repeated ;  "  John  Ogil- 
vie's widow,"  and  then  hurriedly,  as  if  covering  a 
breach  of  manners,  "  Will  John  Ogilvie's  widow  shake 
hands  with  me  ?  " 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  he  bent  over  it  with 
elaborate  old-world  gallantry. 

"  It  is  an  honour,  madam,  which  I  did  not  expect 
this  morning,"  he  remarked,  lifting  his  head,  "  and  I 
wish  it  was  John  Ogilvie's  wife  instead  of  his  widow. 
He  went  away  bearing  me  a  grudge ;  he  might  be  re- 
joiced now  to  find  how  tartly  the  fates  have  made  re- 
taliation. There's  nothing  in  this  world,  madam,  but 
revolution,  and  the  stinging  of  the  wheel  as  it  spins. 
I'm  so  used  to  buffeting  and  trampling,  I  would  fain 
have  him  here  to  enjoy  the  full  measure  of  his 
triumph." 

"  You  speak  bitterly,"  said  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  instinc- 
tively drawing  back.  "  It  was  not  for  bitterness  I  men- 
tioned John  Ogilvie's  name." 

"  I  trust  you  will  accept  my  apologies,"  he  re- 
turned. "  We  are  enjoined  to  speak  no  ill  of  the  dead. 
Besides,  I  have  a  liking  for  naked  truth,  and  John  Ogil- 
vie was  a  good  man." 

"  On  my  own  behalf  and  my  mother's,  I  thank  you 
for  that,"  said  Ogilvie  warmly. 

27 


A  SON  OF  GAD 

"  Sir,"  responded  MacLean,  "  I  have  been  guilty 
of  folly,  of  pridefu'  things  that  it's  no  comfort  to  call  to 
mind;  but  if  any  man  said  I  lied,  I'd  give  him  a  florin's 
worth  for  his  groat,  old  as  I  am.  In  spite  of  old  dis- 
putes and  differences,  I  say  John  Ogilvie  was  a  good 
man.  I  take  it  I  have  the  honour  to  address  his  son 
and  my  successor." 

Ogilvie  bowed. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  pursued  MacLean.  "  Once 
upon  a  time  I  could  have  welcomed  you  to  Dunveagle, 
but  Fortune  has  deprived  me  of  that  privilege. 
Now " 

"  It  is  my  privilege  to  welcome  you,"  struck  in 
Ogilvie. 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  the  old  man,  "  and  may  I 
remark  without  offence  that  times  are  changed  when  it 
is  the  privilege  of  any  man  to  welcome  MacLean  to 
Dunveagle  ?  " 

In  spite  of  him,  there  came  the  haughty,  defiant 
ring  of  the  fighting  chieftain. 

"  But,  doubtless,"  he  went  on,  "  you  have  observed 
that  life  is  often  satirical  with  the  best  of  us.  Madam, 
pardon  me,  but  I  fear  you  may  get  a  chill.  The  dews 
are  heavy  with  us,  and  I  perceive  your  slippers  are  thin. 
If  you  will  accept  my  apologies  for  a  most  unwarranted 
intrusion,  which  I  deeply  regret,  I  will  not  detain  you 
any  longer.  I  wouldn't  be  here  were  it  not  that  old 
hearts  have  strange  likings  for  old  ways  and  old  feet 
follow  them." 

The  bonnet  went  up  in  farewell  salute,  and  he  was 
turning  into  the  woods  when  Ogilvie  spoke. 

"  Mr.  MacLean,"  he  said,  "  I  would  not  have 
you  go  like  that  For  the  moment  at  least  let 
us  forget  the  past.  I  can  well  understand  why  you 
are  here;  and  since  we  have  the  good  fortune  to 

28 


A  TRYING  INTERVIEW 


meet,  may  I  have  the  honour  of  receiving  you  as  my 
guest?" 

MacLean  bowed  politely,  yet  with  the  proud  dig- 
nity of  the  fallen  chief. 

"  After  I  have  had  the  honour  of  receiving  you," 
he  returned.  "  Madam,"  turning  to  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  "  I 
think  you  must  know  the  .way  to  Craigenard.  You 
shall  be  welcome  at  any  time  you  may  be  pleased  to 
visit  it." 

And  with  a  sweep  of  the  glengarry  he  disappeared. 


29 


CHAPTER  V 

AFTERTHOUGHTS  AND  A  PROOF  OF  LOYALTY 

MACLEAN  climbed  back  to  his  rocks  in  an  ire 
equally  oblivious  of  age,  obstacles,  and  sprained  ankle. 
He  had  descended  in  a  frenzied  brooding  upon  ruin 
to  have  a  last  look  at  his  lost  inheritance,  but  had  not 
counted  on  being  caught  and  tricked  into  a  show  of 
amity  with  the  usurpers. 

"  To  think  of  making  an  ass  of  myself  like  that ! " 
he  muttered  again  and  again.  "  What  a  doitered,  in- 
fatuated old  idiot  I  must  be  getting !  "  and  each  repeti- 
tion was  a  fresh  sting. 

Smoke  from  the  domestic  hearth  was  already  curl- 
ing peacefully  against  the  morning  sky  when  he  drew 
near  to  Craigenard.  Ian  Veg,  who  thought  his  master 
still  cosy  in  bed,  was  starting  hillward  with  crook  and 
dog,  but  spying  the  laird,  turned  in  surprise  for  ex- 
planation. 

"  You  are  out  early  the  day,  sir,"  he  called  affably, 
at  the  same  time  giving  a  deferential  salute  of  the  cap. 

The  laird  wiped  a  drenched  forehead;  the  observ- 
ant Ian  noted  that  feet  and  legs  were  also  drenched, 
and  knew  there  had  been  wading  through  long  grass. 

"  Wonderful  wit,"  returned  the  laird  tartly. 

"What,  sir?"  Ian  asked  innocently. 

"  To  discover  at  five  in  the  morning  that  it's  early 
in  the  day.  You'll  be  finding  out  next  that  the  moon 

30 


shines  at  night,  that  water  runs  downhill,  and  other 
marvels." 

Ian  opened  his  eyes  in  a  keener  scrutiny  of  his 
master's  face.  To  all  appearance  the  man  was  perfectly 
sober,  but  what  had  made  him  savage? 

"  Since  you  know  so  much,  perhaps  you  can  tell  me 
if  breakfast's  ready,"  said  the  laird.  "  I've  an  appetite 
for  useful  knowledge  at  the  moment." 

"  I  will  not  be  able  to  say  just  offhand,  sir,"  replied 
Ian,  "  but  I'll  see,"  and  turned  on  his  heel  in  search  of 
Janet. 

"  The  laird's  gone  clean  daft,"  he  cried,  bouncing 
into  the  kitchen  a  minute  later,  "  an's  dancin'  like  a  hen 
on  a  hot  griddle.  D'ye  understand  plain  words  ?  "  he 
demanded,  as  Janet  stared.  "  Dunveagle's  dancin'  ]  " 

"  He's  blither  than  some  folk  I  could  name,"  re- 
torted Janet.  "  What's  he  dancin'  for?  " 

"  I  give  ye  leave  to  go  and  ask,"  rejoined  Ian ;  "  but 
one  thing  I  may  tell  ye,  he's  skreighin'  for  breakfast." 

Janet  glanced  at  the  ancient  eight-day  clock. 

"  It's  not  breakfast-time,"  she  said,  unmoved. 

"  Just  go  and  tell  him,"  suggested  Ian,  "  and  I'll 
watch  the  ploy." 

Janet  knew  her  husband ;  she  also  knew  the  laird. 
Therefore,  instead  of  wasting  time  and  breath  on  the 
foolishness  of  man,  she  turned,  like  a  general  in  the 
crisis  of  battle,  to  her  lieutenant. 

"  Maggie,"  she  said  good-humouredly,  "  whip  you 
out  for  some  fresh  eggs.  I'll  see  to  the  kettle." 

Then  she  returned  to  Ian. 

"  Wash  yourself,  Ian  Veg  Mackern,"  she  said,  with 
authority ;  "  you'll  have  to  wait  on  the  laird,  for  me  and 
Maggie's  got  other  things  to  do." 

But  for  one  small  circumstance  Ian  would  prompt- 
ly have  told  her  to  go  to  Hades.  He  had  been  married 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


thirty  years,  and  experience  had  long  since  taught  him 
to  discriminate  between  the  orders  that  might  be  disre- 
garded and  the  orders  that  must  be  obeyed.  Accord- 
ingly, when  the  laird  sat  down  to  breakfast,  Ian  was 
dutifully,  if  rather  starchily,  in  attendance.  The  laird 
cast  a  scowling  glance  over  the  table ;  then  he  looked 
at  Ian. 

"  The  new  gentry's  coming  to  call  on  me,"  he  said, 
with  the  rumble  of  thunder  in  his  voice. 

Ian  heard  like  a  statue. 

"  The  new  gentry's  coming  to  call  on  me,"  re- 
peated the  laird;  and  still  Ian  gave  as  little  response 
as  a  deaf  mute. 

"  Ye  damn  fool,  d'ye  hear  what  I'm  telling  you?  " 
roared  the  laird,  seizing  an  egg  as  if  to-use  it  for  a 
missile. 

"  If  ye  throw  it  at  me,  sir,"  remarked  Ian,  "  I'm  no 
sure  ye  can  have  another.  The  hens  iss  layin'  wild." 

The  laird  set  down  the  egg  and  repeated  the  infor- 
mation about  the  new  gentry.  lan's  face  became  a 
study  in  the  sublimity  of  its  indifference. 

"  Ian  Veg  Mackern,"  cried  the  laird  murderously, 
"  your  insolence  will  drive  me  to  give  you  what  you 
deserve ! " 

"  It's  no'  for  me  to  say  against  your  pleasure,  sir, 
but  you  will  be  the  only  man  in  the  country  that  could 
do  it,"  returned  Ian,  making  a  pretence  of  arranging 
dishes  on  the  table. 

"  I  hate  an  obstinate  devil  of  a  wooden  post  where  I 
expected  a  man,"  said  the  laird. 

"  It's  disappointing,"  owned  Mackern  coolly. 

"  Ian  Veg,"  cried  the  laird,  "  I  see  you're  in  league 
with  the  rest  to  drive  me  mad !  I  have  to  repeat  that 
the  new  gentry's  coming  to  see  me." 

"  It  iss  no  concern  of  mines  at  all,  sir,  what  the  new 
32 


A  PROOF  OF  LOYALTY 


gentry  will  do  or  not  do,"  responded  Ian  Veg.  "  They 
can  come  to  Craigenard  if  you  want  them,  or  they  can 
go  to  Jerusalem  if  it  suits  them  better ;  ay,  or  they  can 
break  their  necks  over  a  crag,  or  droon  themselves  in 
the  Veagle  water,  just  as  they  like.  It  will  not  be  for 
me  to  poke  my  nose  in." 

"  But  it's  for  you  to  listen  when  I  speak." 

"  And  that's  just  what  I  wass  doing,  sir." 

"  And  it's  for  you  to  speak  as  well  as  listen  when  I 
wish  you,"  pursued  the  laird  explosively.  "  Will  you 
tell  me  if  you  hear  that  ?  " 

"  I  hear  so  much  of  one  thing  and  another  that 
whiles  I  wish  I  wass  dead  too,  and  not  listening  at  all." 

"  Then  you've  only  to  go  on  a  little  further  as 
you're  doing  to  get  your  wish,"  retorted  the  laird. 
"  The  new  gentry  are  coming  to  see  me,  and  I  want 
you  to  make  things  ready." 

"  The  new  gentry's  called  Ogilvie,  I'm  thinking," 
said  Ian. 

"  What  of  that?"  demanded  the  laird. 

"  Oh !  just  thoughts  of  my  own,  sir,"  answered  Ian ; 
"  that  iss  all." 

"  Well,  take  care  they  don't  get  out,"  counselled 
the  laird.  "  As  to  the  new  gentry,  their  name  is  Ogil- 
vie, and  I  want  you  to  understand  that  when  they  come 
to  pay  your  master  a  visit  you'll  stand  behind  and  do 
what  you  ought  to  do  and  stop  your  sniffing,  you  infer- 
nal wild  cat.  Do  you  hear  that  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  the  salmon  will  be  cold  and  the  eggs 
too,  sir,  if  you  don't  begin,"  said  Ian  gravely.  "  It's 
not  to-day  or  yesterday  too  that  Ian  Veg  learned  his 
place.  When  will  the  pock — the  gentry  be  coming, 
sir?" 

"  Perhaps  this  afternoon,  perhaps  to-morrow,  per- 
haps next  day." 

33 


A  SON  OF   GAD 


Ian  considered  with  the  air  of  a  man  of  many 
engagements. 

"  I  will  be  busy  in  the  hill  the  three  days,  I'm  think- 
ing," he  said. 

"  Why,"  cried  the  laird,  altering  his  tone,  "  what 
the  devil's  the  matter  with  you,  Ian  Veg  ?  " 

"  Maiter,  sir !  "  responded  Ian  in  deep  amazement. 
"  Maiter !  Oh,  nothing  in  the  world  will  be  the  maiter, 
I  suppose." 

"  You're  as  mysterious  as  an  old  maid  with  an 
improper  secret,"  rejoined  the  laird.  "  Come,  out 
with  it." 

"  Well,  then,  sir,  if  you  must  know  I  will  tell  you," 
replied  Ian,  bracing  himself  as  for  an  ordeal.  "It's  just 
the  new  gentry ;  that's  what's  the  maiter.  For  I  did 
not  think  to  see  the  day  when  a  MacLean  would  be  in 
Craigenard  and  a  tarn  black  Ogilvie  in  Dunveagle; 
and  I  did  not  think,  too,  that  the  sun  would  rise  on 
any  morning  when  Ian  Veg  Mackern  would  be  told 
by  his  maister  to  wait  on  an  Ogilvie.  But  the  world 
iss  all  upside  down  and  the  top  and  bottom  all  wrong, 
and  Ian  Veg  iss  an  old  man  that  will  not  be  able  very 
well  to  fall  in  with  new  fashions  and  things.  If  you 
wass  to  use  poother  and  shot  on  him  just  like  an  old 
done  dog,  you  wouldn't  be  doing  wrong,  sir." 

The  note  of  wounded  loyalty  touched  the  laird,  who 
had  a  Highlander's  appreciation  of  fidelity.  There  was 
no  need  to  ask  Ian  for  an  explanation  of  his  attitude. 
His  conduct  for  forty  years  furnished  both  exposition 
and  commentary.  Through  good  and  evil  hap, 
through  the  hostility  of  foes  and  the  treachery  of 
friends,  through  the  long-drawn  tragedy  of  crowding 
disaster,  he  had  clung  to  the  laird,  to  the  effusion  of 
blood  and  his  own  undoing.  With  a  bite  and  a  sup  and 
something  to  cover  his  nakedness  he  was  content,  so 

34 


A   PROOF  OF  LOYALTY 


only  that  Dunveagle  benefited.  His  wages  were  now 
two  years  in  arrear,  not  because  the  laird  could  not  or 
would  not  pay,  but  because  Ian  knew  his  master  had 
the  greater  need  of  money.  And  in  this  antique  spirit 
of  devotion  to  a  fallen  house  he  was  vigorously  aided — 
nay,  urged  by  Janet,  who  never  complained  save  when 
a  fighter  for  Dunveagle  evinced  a  disposition  to  mount 
the  white  feather.  The  couple  conspired  to  retain  for 
their  master  a  pathetic  semblance  of  the  ancient  lord- 
ship, to  pose  him  still  as  the  munificent  giver,  the  hos- 
pitable host,  the  quixotically  generous  patron,  to  sus- 
tain his  pride,  and  buoy  him  with  a  sense  of  power. 
They  called  him  Dunveagle,  though  his  title  to  the 
distinction  was  gone,  and  Ian  made  a  visit  to  Perth, 
his  wrists  bearing  the  iron  bracelets,  because  some  one 
had  impugned  the  laird's  honour.  In  return  they 
asked  nothing  but  bread  and  raiment,  a  licence  to  criti- 
cise, and  unfettered  liberty  to  do  as  seemed  to  them 
good  in  the  interest  of  the  man  they  served  and  loved. 
Thus  it  came  that  Ian  took  liberties  with  the  laird  on 
which  not  another  man  in  Glenveagle  would  have 
ventured. 

"  You  forget,  Ian,"  said  the  laird,  softened  by  the 
fresh  proof  and  the  old  memory  of  loyalty ;  "  you  for- 
get that  the  Ogilvies  come  to  me  as  friends.  Would 
you  have  me  lacking  in  proper  courtesy  ?  Tell  me,  did 
you  ever  see  MacLean  rude  or  boorish  to  any  man 
who  came  to  his  door  as  a  friend  ?  " 

"  Never,"  answered  Ian  promptly,  "  never ;  and  I 
tell  you,  sir,  that  if  Dunveagle  calls  the  tevil  friend,  Ian 
Veg  will  be  ceevil  to  him." 

"  After  all,  Ian,  there's  some  difference  between  an 
Ogilvie  and  the  devil,"  said  the  laird,  smiling. 

"  Ay,"  assented  Ian  quickly,  "  I  haf  hard  that  the 
tevil  is  a  gentleman :  I  haf  not  hard  so  much  of  Ogilvie. 

35 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Some  of  us  mind,"  he  went  on,  "  when  the  Ogilvies 
had  as  little  shoe-leather  for  their  feet  as  the  rest  of  us, 
and  this  day  they  are  sitting  in  Dunveagle  Castle. 
That's  a  fine  turn  up.  Some  of  us  mind,  too,  when 
black  Jock  Ogilvie  married  Jean  Meldrum  o'  the 
Whins,  and  what  was  she  ?  I've  seen  her  kilt  her  coats 
and  tramp  the  blankets  like  any  other  country  lass; 
and  now  her  fine  legs  are  in  braw  silks  and  laces,  they 
say." 

"  It's  true,  Ian,"  admitted  the  laird,  "  you  and  I 
have  seen  some  changes  together." 

"  More  than  iss  good  for  our  stomachs,"  cried  Ian ; 
"  more  than  is  good  for  our  stomachs.  We  haf  seen 
the  hoolet  in  the  eagle's  nest — that's  fine.  We  haf  seen 
the  goose  putting  on  the  feathers  of  the  peacock — 
that's  fine  too.  We  haf  seen  kinless  upstarts  in  the 
castles  of  them  that  had  a  name  and  a  habitation  at  the 
flood,  ay,  and  a  boat  of  their  own  too." 

"  It's  not  mentioned  in  Scripture,  Ian,"  remarked 
the  laird. 

"  All  things  iss  not  mentioned  in  Scripter,  sir,"  re- 
turned Ian.  "  If  you  haf  found  no  word  of  MacLean 
there,  I  haf  seen  no  mention  of  Ogilvie." 

He  was  proceeding  on  a  rising  tide  of  eloquence 
when  there  came  a  tap  to  the  door  and  in  walked  Janet. 

"  I  wass  thinking,  sir,  you  will  be  ready  to  clear 
away,"  she  said,  casting  an  eye  over  the  table,  "  and 
you  haf  not  started.  The  salmon  will  be  spoiled,  and 
the  eggs  too." 

"  I'll  finish  in  a  minute,  Janet,"  answered  the  laird, 
falling  to.  "  The  fact  is  we  have  wasted  time  talking. 
I  have  been  telling  Ian  that  the  new  gentry  are  com- 
ing to  see  me,  and  to  tell  you  the  truth  he's  not  too  well 
pleased." 

Janet  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  for  a  cue. 
36 


A  PROOF  OF  LOYALTY 


"  And  if  it  iss  your  will,  sir,  that  the  new  gentry's 
coming  to  see  you,  what  odds  iss  it  if  Ian  Veg  is 
pleased  or  no'  pleased  ?  I  will  be  thinking  Craigenard 
iss  not  his  at  all."  And  she  looked  at  Ian  as  if  daring 
him  to  contradict  her.  Ian  knew  better. 


37 


CHAPTER   VI 

CONSPIRATORS 

IAN  went  forth  from  the  presence  to  take  counsel 
with  his  assistant  and  confidant  Alick  Ruah  (Alick  of 
the  Red  Hair),  whom,  cynic-like,  he  engaged  because 
the  boy's  name  was  a  byword  with  every  old  wife  in 
the  district.  Did  a  fond  mother  wish  to  nip  the  bud- 
ding Satan  in  her  darling,  she  did  it  by  pointing  to  the 
awful  consequences  of  depravity  in  Alick ;  did  a  preach- 
ing father  desire  a  red-hot  example  of  wickedness,  he 
had  it  offhand  in  the  history  of  Alick.  Some  have 
fame  thrust  on  them ;  Alick's  reputation  was  honestly 
won  in  a  brilliant  course  of  evil-doing ;  and  this  greatly 
pleased  Ian,  who  came  to  the  shrine  of  respectability 
sneering. 

Alick's  mother,  Mary  Ruah,  was  long  a  familiar 
ill-cherished  figure  in  Glenveagle.  Her  boy's  inher- 
itance were  the  congenital  red  head  and  certain  pro- 
pensities which,  it  was  commonly  held,  never  did  and 
never  should  make  for  righteousness.  Mary's  career 
had  been  varied  and  adventurous,  and  the  end  tragic 
or  glorious  according  to  the  point  of  view.  The  simple 
facts  are  these. 

One  Saturday  night  Mary  came  forth  into  the  main 
street  of  Aberfourie,  her  best  Sunday  bonnet  tilted 
dizzily  over  her  right  eye,  and  challenged  any  man, 
woman,  or  child  within  hearing  to  a  bout  with  the  bot- 

38 


CONSPIR ATOB8 


tie.  Some  choice  spirits  being  present,  time  and  place 
were  forthwith  arranged.  Three  competitors  entered 
the  lists  against  her,  Ian  Veg,  Tom  of  the  Croft,  and 
Donald  Mohr  of  the  Whins,  an  umpire,  pledged  to 
soberness,  holding  the  stakes,  which  were  two  bottles 
of  a  noted  whisky.  Donald  Mohr  dropped  out  early ; 
Tom  presently  followed,  and  Ian  Veg  and  Mary  settled 
cosily  to  the  contest  by  themselves.  "  Here's  to  you, 
Mary,  my  lass,"  cried  Ian  in  Gaelic.  "  Win  or  lose,  I 
never  met  your  match  in  petticoats.  It's  a  pleasure 
to  drink  with  you ;  but  it  sticks  in  my  mind  you're  in 
for  a  licking  this  twist." 

"  And  I'm  obliged  to  you,  Ian  Veg,"  returned 
Mary.  "  About  the  licking — we  will  see  by-and-by." 

"  Fuich,  you're  hiccuping  already,  Mary,"  rejoine'd 
Ian,  "  and  that's  not  a  good  sign,  my  lass.  Here's  at 
ye." 

At  four  on  the  Sunday  morning  Ian  stottered  home, 
leering  like  a  conqueror,  half  the  prize  swinging  peril- 
ously in  his  coat-tail ;  the  other  half  he  had  chivalrously 
presented  to  Mary,  and  medical  evidence  was  to  the 
effect  that  this  finished  her. 

When  he  heard  some  days  later  that  the  heroic 
Mary  was  no  more,  it  came  "  like  a  stoond  in  his  con- 
science," as  he  declared,  to  do  something  for  her  or- 
phan boy,  a  task  which  he  was  the  readier  to  under- 
take since  inscrutable  Heaven  had  denied  Janet  and 
himself  children  of  their  own.  Alick  was  already 
picking  up  a  precarious  living,  and  as  nobody's  brat 
in  particular  was  flouted  and  abused  at  the  pleasure 
of  such  as  had  the  muscle  to  thresh  him  or  the  nerve 
to  incur  his  ill-will.  The  number  included  none  of 
his  own  age  or  size. 

Ian  took  him  in  hand  curiously,  as  a  breaker  takes 
in  hand  a  horse  that  has  defied  and  beaten  rivals, 

39 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


trained  him  with  a  doting  care  and  finished  him  off,  a 
pattern  of  undevout  heroism.  The  boy  was  without 
fear  or  conscience,  would  venture  anything,  had  wit  to 
devise,  a  head  for  difficulties,  and  a  remarkable  power 
of  the  fists.  Withal,  he  had  the  faculty  of  hero-wor- 
ship. Within  three  months  he  hung  on  lan's  image. 
Napoleon  and  Sir  Colin  Campbell  were  great  men,  but 
could  they  equal  Ian  Veg  in  a  predicament  ?  In  turn, 
Ian  was  prouder  of  Alick  than  of  all  his  works  beside. 
Whoever  else  might  quail  or  run  in  a  crisis,  Alick 
stood  defiant  as  the  rocks  that  tore  and  ripped  the 
Veagle  water:  and  the  mentor  was  pleased  to  note 
that  the  direr  the  peril  the  keener  was  Alick's  de- 
light. 

"  Alick,"  said  Ian  one  day,  meditatively  smoking 
his  pipe,  "  I  wass  just  thinking  to  myself  that  you'll 
do." 

The  boy  had  half  killed  a  neighbouring  herd,  twice 
his  own  size,  and  come  out  of  the  fray  without  a 
scratch.  That  was  lan's  lesson  in  ethics. 

It  chanced  that  when  Ian  passed  out  from  the 
laird's  presence  that  Alick  was  supping  his  morning 
porridge.  A  jerk  of  the  head  brought  him  trotting  at 
lan's  heels,  and  the  pair  were  soon  in  deep  deliberation 
over  the  laird's  folly.  Alick  heard  the  tale  with  in- 
dignation and  contempt,  for  he  had  been  taught  that 
the  right  way  with  an  enemy  is  war  to  the  knife.  Be- 
sides, he  was  there  to  uphold  the  honour  of  the  Mac- 
Leans,  even  against  themselves,  and — curse  and  con- 
found the  Ogilvies. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  think  ?  "  said  Ian.  "  It  iss 
this :  that  the  old  gowk  has  invitit  them.  Well,  you  and 
me  will  see  them  in  cinders,  Alick,  my  lad,  afore  we 
wait  on  them." 

An  unholy  light  gleamed  in  Alick's  eye. 
40 


CONSPIRATORS 


"  Um,"  he  said,  nodding  vehemently  in  confirma- 
tion. 

"  Let  us  see,"  continued  Ian.  "  If  they  walk,  they'll 
come  by  the  wee  footbridge ;  if  they  ride  or  drive,  it 
will  be  the  big  bridge.  Anyway,  you  see,  they'll  have 
to  cross  water." 

"  And  the  bridges  is  fifty  feet  high,"  remarked 
Alick,  with  a  grin  of  intelligence. 

"  About  that,"  returned  Ian. 

"  I  have  a  plan,"  cried  Alick. 

Ian  looked  round  carefully. 

"  No'  so  loud,"  he  cautioned,  "  no'  so  loud.  Mind 
that  stone  walls  have  ears  whiles.  Yer  just  a  reg'lar 
wee  tevil  with  plans,  Alick.  What  is  it  now  ?  " 

"  The  bridges  is  wood,"  answered  Alick. 

Ian  struck  a  match  on  the  bowl  of  his  black  cutty 
pipe,  and  began  to  pull  thoughtfully.  Then,  taking 
the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  he  looked  hard  at  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Take  care,  Alick  Ruah,  of  the  freckles,"  he  said. 
"  Go  on  like  that,  and  you'll  soon  be  in  the  prison  of 
Perth,  and  I'm  in  a  poseetion  to  tell  ye  the  air  is  not  at 
all  good,  nor  the  meat  and  drink  too,  not  to  speak  of 
having  to  make  yer  own  bed  in  the  morning,  which  is 
the  business  of  women,  and  not  of  men  at  all.  Forby 
it  might  be  a  hanging  job  if  the  trash  was  drooned. 
Haf  you  thought  of  that,  Alick  Ruah  ?  " 

"  A  bit  of  the  saw  and  a  bit  spate,"  suggested  Alick, 
undaunted  by  the  prospect  of  hanging.  "  Maybe  rain 
would  come  if  we  prayed  for  it." 

"Ay,  maybe  the  goose  will  come  when  the  fox 
whistles,"  returned  Ian.  "  A  bit  of  the  saw  and  a  bit 
spate.  The  saw  we  could  manage  if  the  night  was 
dark  enough,  but  about  the  spate,  do  you  think  you 
and  me's  in  that  well  with  Providence  we  can  get  a 
4  41 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


spate  when  we  want  it  ?  It  iss  in  my  mind  there  iss  no 
chance  of  a  spate." 

Thereupon  he  began  to  unfold  a  plan  of  his  own,  a 
plan  so  tame,  so  unheroic,  that  Alick  feared  Ian  was 
getting  old  and  losing  his  spirit.  Ian,  in  fact,  was  base- 
ly thinking  of  saving  himself  and  leaving  the  laird  to 
the  consequences  of  his  infatuation.  Before  Alick 
could  express  his  sentiments  on  the  point,  they  were 
interrupted  by  Janet. 

"  Collogin'  again,"  she  cried.  "  One  would  think 
you  two  bodies  haf  the  whole  care  and  planning  of 
the  world.  Ian  Veg,  your  porridge  will  be  getting 
cold  if  you  don't  take  care,  and  you,  Alick,  what  I  am 
wondering  iss  this,  if  there's  enough  in  your  head 
to  get  me  a  troot  or  two." 

"  A  troot  or  two,"  cried  Alick,  sniffing  treason, 
and  glanced  at  Ian. 

"  That  will  be  exackly  what  I  said,  Alick  Ruah," 
responded  Janet.  "  I  haf  an  awful  fancy  for  a  troot. 
If  you  wass  to  bring  me  a  basketfu'  you'll  see  what  will 
happen." 

He  went  obediently  to  search  out  his  fishing-tackle, 
Ian,  by  Janet's  orders,  helping:  then  when  he  was 
gone  on  his  mission,  Ian  went  in  to  breakfast,  which  he 
ate  gloomily,  while  receiving  instructions  from  his  wife 
concerning  the  expected  visit  of  the  Ogilvies.  He  said 
nothing,  but  when  he  strode  forth  again,  red  rebellion 
shone  in  his  eye.  "  The  Ogilvies,"  he  muttered  to 
himself,  going  into  the  stable ;  "  that's  what  the  Ogil- 
vies deserve."  And  he  crunched  his  heel  viciously  on 
a  stone. 


42 


CHAPTER   VII 

CONSPIRACY  TAKES  A  NEW  TURN 

IT  chanced  that  on  the  afternoon  of  next  day  Ian 
and  Alick,  resting  on  a  knoll  behind  Craigenard  to 
breathe  and  mop  their  streaming  brows,  looked  down 
on  the  green  windings  of  Glenveagle.  From  a  craggy 
gap  to  the  west  the  turbulent  river  leaped,  to  flash  down 
the  valley  in  cascades  and  running  lines  of  foam  where 
the  rocks  were  thick,  or  gloom  in  pools  and  eddies  that 
were  black  in  the  brightest  noon.  The  pine  woods 
wore  their  richest  olive,  the  fields  their  most  vivid 
green.  In  fine,  Glenveagle  was  in  summer  dress,  and 
the  lush  verdure  of  Glenveagle  is  a  thing  of  beauty 
which  city  people  travel  far  to  see. 

"  It's  bonnie,"  remarked  Ian,  filling  his  lungs  with 
the  scented  breeze.  "  Man,  it  iss  grand  when  the  sun 
shines  like  that  in  Glenveagle.  Alick,  my  lad,  it  iss  a 
good  thing  to  be  living  this  day,  too." 

He  swept  his  eye  over  glen  and  mountain  with 
ineffable  satisfaction.  Then  it  lighted  on  the  grey 
turrets  of  Dunveagle  Castle,  rising  in  the  midst  of 
a  billowy  sea  of  foliage,  and  at  that  his  face  dark- 
ened. 

"  Alick,"  he  said,  incipient  anger  ringing  in  his 
voice,  "  if  the  tevil  had  not  too  much  hand  in  this  world, 
it  iss  down  there  you  and  me  would  be,  and  not  melting 
up  here.  Now  it  iss  the  Ogilvies  that  iss  there,  the  son 

43 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


of  black  Jock  Ogilvie,  of  Craigenard,  here,  and  Jean 
Meldrum  of  the  Whins,  ay,  and  Jean  herself,  too. 
That's  a  change  for  you.  If  you  live  long  enough  you 
will  see  some  wonderful  things,  Alick,  my  man." 

He  shut  his  lips  with  a  smack,  his  eyes  still  bent 
on  the  grey  points  among  the  green. 

Instead  of  answering,  Alick  leaped  to  his  feet. 
"  What's  yon  ?  "  he  cried  excitedly.  "  What's  yon?  " 

"  Alick  Ruah,"  responded  Ian,  also  rising,  "  if  you 
make  me  jump  like  that,  look  you,  I  must  learn  you 
manners  with  the  stick.  What  are  ye  crying  and  glow- 
ering at?" 

"  They're  coming,"  was  the  answer.  "  See  yonder 
at  the  end  of  the  avenue  among  the  trees." 

Ian  held  an  outspread  hand  over  his  eyes  and 
gazed. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  "  they're  coming."  And  he  added 
comments  on  the  general  economy  of  things,  which  it 
would  not  be  edifying  to  repeat.  Spitting  in  disgust, 
he  turned  to  his  companion. 

"  Where's  yer  saws  and  yer  spates  and  yer  prayin' 
now  ?  "  he  demanded.  And  almost  as  he  spoke  Alick 
announced  another  discovery. 

"  The  laird's  seen  them,  too.  There's  Maggie 
looking  for  us,"  he  cried,  excitement  quivering  in  his 
voice. 

With  the  celerity  of  a  weasel  Ian  slid  behind  a  rock. 
"  Let  her  find  us,  then,"  he  growled.  "  And  will  you 
be  coming  down  out  of  that,  too,  Alick  Ruah,  or  will 
you  need  my  cromak  about  the  legs  of  you  ?  " 

Alick  likewise  dropped  out  of  sight,  and  the  two 
made  off  hillward.  Five  minutes  later  Maggie  was  on 
the  knoll  they  had  left,  shouting  vociferously. 

"  Alick,"  said  Ian,  with  a  grim  chuckle,  "  Maggie 
hass  lungs  and  legs.  It  is  a  peety  to  be  deef  when  a 

44 


CONSPIRACY  TAKES  A   NEW   TURN 

bonnie  lassie's  cryin'  to  ye,  but  business  iss  business. 
We  haf  that  job  in  the  hill  that  can't  wait." 

Finding  her  shouting  in  vain,  Maggie  once  more 
plunged  in  pursuit.  The  fugitives  quickened  their 
pace  for  that  urgent  business  in  the  hill,  of  which  a 
minute  before  neither  had  heard.  Behind,  Maggie 
gave  tongue  at  intervals  and  with  increasing  vehe- 
mence. 

"  Maggie  can  skreigh,"  remarked  Ian  almost  in  ad- 
miration. At  the  end  of  a  mile's  race  over  the  rockiest, 
steepest  ground  the  pair  could  choose,  she  overtook 
them.  Her  hand  was  pressed  to  her  side ;  she  streamed 
at  every  pore,  and  her  final  challenge  was  a  gasp.  Ian 
turned  in  amazed  concern. 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  Maggie,  what  iss  the  maiter  ?  " 
he  cried.  "  You  should  mind  that  running  like  that  is 
awful  bad  for  the  heart.  What  for  did  you  not  cry 
after  us  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  panted  Maggie. 

"  There's  Alick,"  returned  Ian,  pointing  to  that 
model  of  veracity.  "  If  there  was  a  cry  in  the  hill  this 
blessed  day,  ask  him.  Now,  Maggie,  take  breath  and 
tell  us  what  is  the  maiter." 

"  The  laird  wants  you,  and  so  does  Janet,"  blurted 
Maggie. 

"  Yer  flustered,  Maggie,"  rejoined  Ian  tenderly. 
"  Take  time  and  tell  us  all  about  it." 

Whereupon  Maggie  reported  with  much  panting 
that  Ian  was  wanted  instantly,  that  the  Ogilvies  were 
coming,  and  that,  metaphorically  speaking,  Craigenard 
was  standing  on  its  head  and  madly  kicking  its  heels 
in  the  air.  He  would  have  questioned  further,  and  to 
that  end  invited  her  to  sit  down.  But  if  Alick  was  un- 
der lan's  thumb,  Maggie  was  under  Janet's,  so  having 
delivered  her  message,  she  made  for  home.  The  con- 

45 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


spirators  looked  at  each  other  in  a  silence  more  elo- 
quent than  speech. 

"  Alick,"  said  Ian  presently,  "  you  and  me's  two 
fools.  If  you  kick  me  I'll  kick  you — for  our  own 
sateesfaction." 

From  a  point  of  vantage  beside  a  grey  rock  they 
watched  the  carriage  from  Dunveagle  climbing  like  an 
ant  far  below.  Luckily,  the  fat  English  horses  crawled 
so  slowly  there  was  a  moment  to  consider  a  plan  of 
procedure. 

"  Alick,"  said  Ian,  "  me  and  you  might,  as  you 
would  say,  tell  the  laird  to  go  to  blazes,  and  we  might 
tell  Janet  to  go  to  blazes,  but  it  iss  in  my  mind  it  will 
not  do  to  tell  the  laird  and  Janet  together  to  go  to 
blazes.  I  wish  Maggie  had  tumbled  in  a  bog-hole. 
It  iss  bad  any  way  ye  look  at  it.  I  must  be  off,  though. 
But  sit  you  here,  Alick,  watching,  and  when  you  see 
the  trash  near  the  far  gate  yonder,  bolt  down  with  the 
biggest  skelloch  you  can  get  out  of  you,  and  get  me 
back  to  the  hill." 

"  What  about  ?  "  asked  the  practical  Alick. 

"  If  you  was  afraid  of  a  licking,  I'm  thinking  you 
would  find  a  story,"  answered  Ian  pungently. 

Alick  beamed. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  he  said,  with  easy  self-confi- 
dence. 

"  And  if  ye  fail  in  one  jot  or  tittle,"  said  Ian,  with 
scriptural  impressiveness,  "  it  will  be  better  for  you, 
Alick,  my  lad,  not  to  come  down  at  all." 

"  Very  well,"  repeated  Alick,  his  features  crinkling 
in  a  grin  of  content. 

On  reaching  the  house,  Ian  found  the  laird  already 
dressed  in  gala  tartan. 

"  Where's  Alick  ?  "  was  the  first  question. 

"  Up  by  in  the  hill,  sir,"  answered  Ian  innocently. 
46 


CONSPIRACY  TAKES  A  NEW  TURN 

"  Bring  him  back,  then,  quick !  "  said  the  laird ;  "  I 
want  him.'* 

So  Ian  went  gloomily  to  the  back  of  the  house,  put 
the  first  and  third  fingers  of  his  left  hand  into  his 
mouth,  and  the  second  on  the  point  of  his  carnelian 
nose,  and  blew.  Now,  when  Ian  put  his  heart  into  it, 
there  was  not  his  match  at  the  long  whistle  among  all 
the  shepherds  of  Glenveagle.  But  his  whistling  now 
was  without  pith  or  spirit. 

"  You've  done  better  than  that  in  your  day,  Ian 
Veg,"  said  the  laird  grimly.  "  Try  again." 

The  second  time,  being  touched  in  his  pride,  Ian 
made  the  echoes  ring. 

"  That'll  likely  do,"  said  the  laird  drily.  "  Now  get 
into  your  kilt" 

"  Your  tartan  or  mines  ?  "  asked  Ian. 

"  When  did  MacLean's  followers  receive  Mac- 
Lean's  friends  in  the  Mackern  tartan  ?  "  was  the  retort. 
"  You  have  ten  minutes  to  dress." 

Sullenly,  and  not  too  briskly,  Ian  went  to  the  back 
kitchen,  where  Janet  awaited  him  with  a  tub  of  water 
and  half  a  bar  of  acrid  soap.  A  minute  later  Alick  fol- 
lowed, breathless.  Janet  eyed  the  pair  as  Bumble 
might  survey  particularly  undesirable  casuals. 

"  Ay,"  she  remarked  tartly,  "  a  woman  has  a  fine 
handling  with  her  men  folk.  They  gaither  dirt  like 
drookit  hens.  Maggie,  bring  yer  scrubbin'  brush." 

She  left  to  make  herself  "  snod,"  but  presently  re- 
turned to  expedite  the  washing.  Ian  was  spluttering 
foam,  rubbing  stung  eyes,  and  cursing  wickedly. 

"  And  to  think  I  haf  to  thole  this  for  the  tarn  black 
Ogilvies,"  he  cried  in  disgust  and  rebellion. 

"  Ay,  and  more  too,  if  you  will  not  be  hurry- 
ing, Ian  Veg ! "  came  from  the  door.  "  The  laird's 
waiting." 

47 


A  SON  OF   GAD 


Even  lan's  docility  failed  in  that  moment  of  trial. 
Turning,  towel  in  hand,  he  blinked  at  his  wife  with  red, 
truculent  eyes. 

"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  take  my  compliments 
to  the  laird,  and  say  that  if  he  gives  better  soap  I  will 
make  better  time  ?  "  he  retorted.  "  And  if  I  wass  you, 
Janet,  I  would  not  be  standing  aboot  with  only  half 
my  clothes  on.  I  have  seen  things  that  wass  more 
becoming." 

"  Your  kilt  and  your  sporan  and  your  stockings  iss 
laid  out  on  the  bed,"  rejoined  Janet,  unmoved,  "  and 
yours,  too,  Alick.  And  mind,  both  of  you,  there'll  be 
a  fine  splore  if  the  new  gentry  comes  and  nobody  out 
to  meet  them." 

Within  the  prescribed  time  Ian  and  Alick  appeared 
before  the  laird,  resplendent  in  MacLean  tartan,  in 
metal  buttons,  buckles,  sporan,  and  hair  oil.  The  laird 
cast  a  critical  eye  over  them,  and  signified  they  would 
do,  though  he  would  have  preferred  less  shine  on  the 
face  and  less  grease  about  the  head.  Then  he  gave  the 
final  orders.  He  hated  the  Ogilvies,  but,  hating  or 
loving,  banning  or  blessing,  Highland  sentiment  dic- 
tated that  guests  should  be  received  in  honour.  Be- 
sides, he  was  proud  of  his  tartan,  the  sole  remaining 
emblem  of  vanished  splendour.  It  had  been  con- 
spicuous on  many  a  glorious,  many  a  disastrous  field. 
Its  scarlet  had  been  deepened  to  heart's  crimson  at 
Flodden;  it  had  brightened  the  victories  of  the  great 
Montrose,  been  with  Dundee  at  Killiecrankie,  and 
Charlie  at  Culloden,  and  fluttered  in  the  van  of  forays 
and  clan  battles  innumerable,  from  Loch  Gruinard  and 
Benbigger  down.  Never  in  any  crisis  of  fortune  had  it 
been  disgraced  by  cowardice,  by  discourtesy,  or  inhos- 
pitality ;  it  should  not  be  disgraced  now,  when  honour 
was  all  that  remained  to  be  upheld.  So  Alick  went  to 

48 


CONSPIRACY  TAKES  A  NEW  TURN 

open  gates  with  particular  instructions  as  to  behaviour, 
and  to  Ian  fell  the  duty  of  holding  the  carriage  door 
as  the  occupants  stepped  out.  He  did  it  with  a  high 
head,  a  set  face,  and  a  silent  tongue,  disdainfully  push- 
ing the  nigger  footman  out  of  his  way. 


49 


CHAPTER   VIII 

IN   THE   LION'S  DEN,   AND   WHAT   HAPPENED   THERE 

THE  effect  of  sentiment,  half  consciously  disguised 
as  goodwill,  the  visit  was  in  truth  an  invasion  of  the 
mediaeval  by  the  modern,  and  something  more,  as  both 
sides  acutely  felt.  In  its  heart  the  mediaeval  fiercely 
resented  the  advent  of  the  modern  as  at  once  a  shame- 
ful injustice  and  a  blatant  impertinence ;  and  the  mod- 
ern was  nervously  uncertain  of  the  spirit  of  the  mediae- 
val. For  you  are  to  note  it  was  not  merely  the  com- 
mon clashing  of  old  and  new,  the  collision,  as  it  were, 
of  two  hemispheres  and  two  civilisations;  it  was  or 
might  be  the  revival  of  old  hatreds,  the  reopening  of 
deadly  feuds.  To  be  sure  the  olive  branch  stood  be- 
tween, but  might  it  not  enwreathe  the  dagger  ?  In  the 
day  of  their  power  the  MacLeans  had  dealt  hardly  with 
the  Ogilvies ;  the  wheel  turned,  and  behold  the  Ogil- 
vies  sat  in  the  seat  of  the  MacLeans.  Not  from  friend- 
ship is  a  Roland  thus  given  for  an  Oliver. 

And  indeed  when  Alick  had  closed  the  last  gate 
behind  them,  the  Ogilvies  had  a  sharp  tremor  of  mis- 
giving at  their  temerity  in  walking  wantonly,  as  it 
were,  into  the  lion's  den — a  lion  whose  claws  had  on 
less  excuse  turned  to  murderous  steel  points.  Had 
their  exile  blotted  out  remembrance  of  Highland  hon- 
our, that  they  did  not  know  better?  For  the  High- 
lander stands  brother  to  the  Arab  in  this,  that  the  wel- 

50 


IN  THE  LION'S  DEN 


fare  of  his  guest,  even  when  an  enemy,  is  sacred  as 
his  own  life.  MacLean  might  go  to  Dunveagle  and  cut 
Ogilvie's  throat  with  gusto ;  but  Ogilvie  at  Craigenard 
was  safe  while  MacLean  had  a  blade  to  defend  him. 

He  was  out  himself  to  greet  them,  the  eagle  feather 
of  valiancy  in  his  glengarry,  the  jewelled  horn  of  the 
skenedhu,  reserved  for  great  occasions,  gleaming 
above  his  stocking.  His  welcome  had  the  courtly 
grace  of  the  patrician.  There  is  an  air  of  quality  which 
is  the  special  gift  of  time ;  and  the  Ogilvies  were  per- 
haps vaguely  conscious  of  the  rawness  of  brand-new 
grandeur  beside  an  immemorial  mien  of  lordship. 
They  could  not  lay  haughtiness  to  their  host's  charge. 
His  manner  was  easy,  cordial,  gracious,  if  also  nobly 
proud  and  subtly  impressive.  They  knew  he  was  as 
poor  as  the  hawks  that  haunted  his  bleak  crags,  and 
notwithstanding  a  benign  exterior,  as  fierce  and  inde- 
pendent. 

Connie,  who  had  eyes  and  ears  for  a  multitude, 
marked  yet  other  things  which  surprised,  yet  some- 
how did  not  displease.  One  was  that  immediately  on 
bidding  them  welcome  he  replaced  his  bonnet  on  his 
head,  not  defiantly  nor  arrogantly,  yet  as  one  who 
would  have  the  action  noted. 

"  An  American,"  she  said  to  herself  in  her  rapid 
Western  way,  "  would  remain  bareheaded."  And 
thereby  Miss  Ogilvie,  who  knew  much,  evinced  igno- 
rance of  the  privileges  of  chieftainship.  In  the  glorious 
days  of  old  a  MacLean  had  done  his  prince  a  redoubt- 
able service,  and  in  reward  had  warrant  for  himself 
and  his  descendants  for  ever  to  stand  covered  in  the 
royal  presence.  The  man  who  faces  kings,  bonnet  on 
head,  is  not  likely,  if  you  consider  the  matter,  to  un- 
cover before  meaner  men,  even  if  they  are  perched 
on  piles  of  gold.  Wherefore  after  the  lordly  duck  of 

51 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


greeting  MacLean  clapped  his  headpiece  on  again,  as 
one  above  the  conventions  of  ordinary  people. 

But  his  demeanour  was  marked  by  a  quaint,  elab- 
orate courtesy,  which  Connie,  whose  appreciation  of 
old  world  romance  was  quick  and  keen,  pronounced 
"  as  good  as  a  scene  out  of  the  Morte  d' Arthur."  The 
reader  may  be  pleased  to  glance  at  an  impressionist 
portrait  which  she  dashed  off  for  her  friend,  Kitty  Dun- 
bar,  in  New  York. 

"  Imagine  a  patriarch  of  six  feet,  not  in  Hebrew 
robe  and  sandals,  but  in  kilt  of  flaring  Highland  tar- 
tan, sporan — which  grannie  tells  me  is  the  Gaelic  for 
purse — (it  wouldn't  do  for  us  to  wear  it  so  openly  on 
our  fronts,  dear),  buckle-shoes,  and  jewelled  dagger, 
called  skenedhu  (Anglice  black  knife),  as  if  he  were 
a  hoary  Italian  bandit  retired  on  his  laurels.  Picture 
him,  too,  quite  as  lean  but  hardly  as  angular  as  our 
typical  Yank,  but  in  place  of  a  withered  goatee  put  a 
great  glistening  sheaf  of  white  beard;  above  that  set 
an  eagle  beak  inclining  to  what  your  favourite  novel- 
ist calls  '  the  aquiline ' ;  flanking  that,  like  a  pair  of 
twin  sentinels,  put  a  pair  of  grey  hawk-eyes,  equally 
capable  of  the  caresses  of  a  lover  (things,  to  be  candid, 
we  women  would  sell  our  souls  for,  Kitty  darling) 
or  the  piercing  flash  of  the  sworn  foe.  Crown  all  with 
a  fuzzy-wuzzy  tangle  of  snow-white  hair  on  which, 
if  you  please,  my  hero  keeps  his  bonnet  (that's  the 
Highland  word  for  what  is  neither  cap  nor  hat)  in 
presence  of  the  finest  lady  in  the  land.  '  The  rude 
man ! '  you  exclaim  in  your  impetuous  way.  On  the 
contrary,  splendid,  an  old  lion  in  the  glory  of  his  age, 
a  trifle  uncertain  perhaps  in  his  temper,  like  the  noble 
creatures  of  his  sex,  but  a  woman's  hero  to  the  last 
fibre  of  him.  America  produces  nothing  like  him, 
nothing  quite  so  picturesque  and  therefore  so  interest- 

52 


IN  THE  LION'S  DEN 


ing.  Take  dear  old  Don  Quixote,  add  Northern  shag- 
giness  and  shrewdness,  rig  him  out  in  Highland  cos- 
tume, set  him  down  among  the  everlasting  hills  and 
crags  (now  gorgeous  with  sunshine  and  colour),  and 
you  have  some  idea  of  my  chief.  A  century  and  a  half 
ago  his  family  sang, 

"  '  Come  o'er  the  stream  Charlie  dear  Charlie,  brave  Charlie, 
Come  o'er  the  stream,  Charlie,  and  dine  wi'  MacLean  ' 

with  a  great  deal  too  much  heart  and  fervour  for  their 
own  interest.  Do  you  know  who  my  present  heroine 
is  ?  Joan  of  Arc,  Grace  Darling !  Fudge.  It's  Flora 
Macdonald.  My  chief's  great — great-great-grandfather 
kissed  her  hand,  and  never  after  kissed  another  woman. 
Match  me  such  loyalty  among  your  gallants  of-  to- 
day. My  hero  has  a  history.  He  once  owned  Dun- 
veagle,  and  has  a  son  whose  picture  at  seven  years  of 
age  hangs  in  the  dining-room  on  the  rock,  a  sweet- 
faced,  winsome,  innocent  tot  in  golden  ringlets,  and  a 
ruffle  of  lace,  who  looks  at  you  wistfully  as  for  a  kiss. 
Now  he's  an  officer  in  the  British  Army,  and  I  daresay 
not  so  wistful  and  innocent  as  he  once  was.  I  hear  he 
is  on  the  way  home  from  India.  Possibly  he  may  be 
here  on  furlough  when  you  come." 

As  was  her  way,  Miss  Ogilvie  trips  along  too  fast. 
She  does  not  tell,  for  example,  that  the  man  who  had 
faced  delirium  on  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange  with 
the  coolness  of  a  bronze  statue  was  strangely  embar- 
rassed before  her  mountain  knight,  nor  for  reasons 
easily  guessed  was  Mrs.  Ogilvie  in  a  voluble  mood.  It 
devolved  on  the  ardent,  unconventional  Connie  herself 
to  dispel  the  chill  of  reserve  and  uncertainty. 

"  Well !  "  she  cried,  glancing  from  the  laird  to  his 
henchmen,  "  really  and  truly  we  are  in  the  Highlands 
at  last." 

53 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Her  father  warned  her  by  a  look  to  be  careful,  a 
warning  secretly  repeated  by  her  grandmother;  but 
she  skipped  on  heedless. 

"  Mr.  MacLean,"  she  said,  stooping  towards  him, 
"  will  you  tell  me  if  that  is  a  real  dagger  you  are 
wearing  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  skenedhu,  Miss  Ogilvie,"  MacLean 
answered  gravely.  "It  is  worn  for  ornament  now, 
more's  the  pity ;  but  once  it  was  carried  for  use." 

"  How  romantic !  "  she  cried.  "  One  makes  out  it 
must  have  been  rarely  exciting  in  the  good  old  times 
when  men  settled  their  differences  with  the  dirk  in- 
stead of  going  to  law.  Grannie  has  told  me  about 
them,  and  I  have  read  a  little  too — Ossian's  poems  and 
Sir  Walter's  books  and  other  works.  Don't  you  think, 
sir,  the  world  is  growing  tame  ?  " 

Unwittingly  she  held  the  stirrup,  and  the  next  in- 
stant the  laird  was  on  his  hobby-horse. 

"  Tame,"  he  repeated,  a  ringing  scorn  in  his  voice. 
"  Is  the  Caillach  that  sits  blinking  and  snuffing  in  the 
greasach  tame  ?  " 

"  Grannie,  dear,  will  you  translate  for  me  ?  "  asked 
Connie  sweetly,  turning  to  her  grandmother. 

But  the  laird,  sensitive  as  an  electric  needle,  quickly 
interposed. 

"  I  will  translate  myself,  Miss  Ogilvie,"  he  said. 
"The  translation  is  just  this,  that  the  world  is  now 
like  an  old  wife  that  sits  mumbling  among  the  ashes. 
I  think  the  world  grows  too  politic  and  prudent." 

"  Delightful !  "  she  cried.  "  And  has  that  skindoo 
killed  anybody  in  its  day,  Mr.  MacLean  ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  wonder,"  he  answered,  his  eye  twin- 
kling. "  It  is  old,  and  once  long  ago  there  was  blood 
on  it." 

A  shade  of  horror  crossed  Connie's  face,  but  she 
54 


IN  THE  LION'S  DEN 


was  too  eager  to  be  long  or  deeply  horrified.  Had  he 
a  claymore  as  well  as  a  skindoo? 

"  If  Mrs.  Ogilvie  will  excuse  us  while  we  go  to  the 
little  room  upstairs  that  I  call  the  armoury,"  he  said, 
rising  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  boy,  "  I  will  show  you 
a  broad  sword." 

Connie  and  her  father  accompanied  the  laird ;  Mrs. 
Ogilvie,  having  thoughts  of  her  own,  remained  behind 
in  the  little  drawing-room  once  her  pride,  and  sent  for 
Janet.  But  the  two  had  hardly  dipped  into  the  past 
when  Connie  was  back,  a  huge  sword  swung  on  her 
shoulder  and  a  dancing  delight  in  her  face.  Her  father 
and  the  laird  followed  close,  the  latter  in  a  pother  of 
wonder  over  this  frank,  irruptive,  cordial  Western  girl, 
so  curiously  unlike  the  young  ladies  of  his  acquaint- 
ance. 

"  Beyond  all  doubt  we  are  in  the  Highlands  at 
last !  "  she  cried.  "  See,  a  relic  of  the  good  old  times !  " 
laying  the  weapon  across  her  grandmother's  knees. 
"  An  Andrea  Ferrara,  isn't  it,  Mr.  MacLean  ?  " 

"  You  can  see  the  St.  Andrew's  cross  for  yourself," 
replied  the  laird  proudly. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,  and  it  has  been  in  the  wars  too, 
Mr.  MacLean,  hasn't  it  ?  " 

"  Count  the  notches,  Miss  Ogilvie.  It  was  at  In- 
verlochy  and  Kilsyth.  It  helped  to  prog  Argyle  out  of 
his  own  castle  of  Inverary  when  he  forgot  his  manners 
and  his  patriotism,  which,  to  say  truth,  he  hardly  ever 
remembered.  After  that  it  was  at  Killiecrankie,  and 
Culloden,  and  other  places.  Oh  yes,  it  has  been  in  the 
wars." 

"  And  done  murder,"  suggested  Connie  archly. 

"  Miss  Ogilvie,"  returned  MacLean,  drawing  him- 
self up  like  an  offended  warrior,  "  war  is  not  murder. 
A  thief  and  a  villain  go  out  to  murder  in  the  dark, 

55 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


but  a  soldier  goes  and  kills  his  man  in  broad  daylight, 
like  a  gentleman.  Perhaps  you  are  interested  in  Mont- 
rose,  Miss  Ogilvie." 

"  The  great  Marquis !    Listen !  "  and  she  recited — 

"  He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch 
To  gain  or  lose  it  all." 

"Is  that  the  man?" 

"  That's  the  man,"  replied  the  laird,  his  face  flushed 
with  excitement.  "  Well,  he  put  it  to  the  touch,  and 
you  know  what  happened." 

He  turned  abruptly  to  the  window,  and  stretched 
an  arm  towards  Dunveagle.  Instinctively  all  eyes  fol- 
lowed the  pointed  hand. 

"  You  see  the  right  peak  of  the  castle  yonder,"  he 
said,  "  under  that  is  a  bedroom." 

"  Mine,"  responded  Connie,  with  a  start. 

"  Then,"  said  MacLean  impressively,  "  Miss  Ogil- 
vie has  the  honour  to  own  a  room  once  occupied  by 
the  great  Marquis." 

"Tell  us  about  it,"  she  said  breathlessly.  "Tell 
us." 

"  It  was  after  Philiphaugh,"  replied  MacLean, 
"  when  they  were  hunting  him  by  hill  and  river,  like  a 
brock — that  is  a  badger,  you  understand.  And  in  his 
extremity  he  honoured  the  MacLean  of  that  day  by 
seeking  refuge  in  Dunveagle.  Three  nights  he  slept 
in  that  room  under  the  right  peak ;  and  when  he  went, 
having  no  better  gift  to  bestow,  he  left  that  sword. 
'  Take,'  he  said,  '  it  is  all  I  have  to  give  in  the  present 
state  of  my  fortune.  A  loyal  Highlander  once  pre- 
sented it  to  me.  I  present  it  in  turn  to  another  loyal 
Highlander.' " 

56 


IN  THE   LION'S  DEN 


"  I  daresay  it  was  accepted  as  good  payment,"  said 
Connie. 

"  Payment,"  repeated  the  laird,  "  none  thought  of 
payment.  Men  did  not  barter  all  for  money  then. 
Montrose  died  at  Edinburgh,  as  you  know,  and  Mac- 
Lean  is  no  longer  in  Dunveagle.  But  the  thought 
keeps  me  company  many  a  time,  and  I  would  not  ex- 
change it  for  a  cartload  of  gold,  that  in  his  sore  straits 
the  great  Marquis  was  sheltered  at  Dunveagle.  And 
that's  the  sword ;  count  the  notches,  and  reckon  every 
notch  the  lives  of  half  a  score  of  enemies." 

He  drew  up,  his  eye  flashing,  his  face  dusky  red. 
Even  Connie  felt  that  the  atmosphere  had  grown  sud- 
denly and  dangerously  electric ;  and  for  one  swift  mo- 
ment Duncan  Ogilvie  saw  MacLean  wield  the  sword 
of  Montrose  in  vengeance. 


57 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE   LION'S   DEN,   CONTINUED 

THE  laird  himself  was  quite  quick  to  realise  the  em- 
barrassment, and  his  chivalry  leaped  to  the  rescue. 

"  Tut,  tut ! "  he  cried  in  laughing  self-reproach. 
"  Talking  of  swords  and  wars  when  we  should  be  mind- 
ing our  friends."  He  turned  with  an  exquisite  gal- 
lantry to  Mrs.  Ogilvie.  "  We  are  over  head  and  ears  in 
old  associations,"  he  remarked,  every  sign  of  heat  van- 
ished. "  Every  stone  here  speaks  with  a  strange 
tongue.  I  am  sure  you  would  like  to  go  through 
the  house  for  old  sake's  sake,  as  the  saying  is.  Will 
you  do  me  the  favour  to  say  where  you  prefer  to 
begin?" 

He  bent  his  grey  eyes  upon  her,  smiling  as  if  his 
sole  business  in  life  were  to  please.  And  in  truth  he 
was  thinking  how  to  eliminate  himself,  so  that  his 
presence  should  not  disturb  while  his  visitors  com- 
muned with  the  ghosts  of  the  "  old  dead  time."  He 
knew  better  than  most  what  it  was  to  have  them  swoop- 
ing back  with  choking  memories.  Many  and  many  an 
hour  he  passed  with  the  glorious  dead,  his  mind  in  a 
burning  glow  at  the  thought  of  their  deeds,  or  brooded 
with  rankling  heart  over  things  that  had  long  since 
melted  into  air,  into  thin  air.  In  such  hours  of  absorp- 
tion he  resented  intrusion  himself,  and  he  had  a  suffi- 
cient regard  for  the  golden  rule  to  consider  his  guests 

58 


THE  LION'S  DEN 


when  the  past  held  them,  as  he  could  well  guess,  in  a 
throttling  grip. 

"  I'm  thinking  there  is  no  need,  Mrs.  Ogilvie,"  he 
said,  "  to  show  you  the  way  about  Craigenard,  for  in- 
deed, as  I  find  to  my  cost,  old  feet  remember  the  steps 
of  their  youth  better  than  the  steps  of  yesterday.  If 
they  had  their  will  at  the  last,  likely  they'd  just  walk 
back  to  the  starting-point  again.  The  house,  top  to 
bottom,  is  open  to  you;  will  you  act  as  guide  while 
I  attend  to  some  little  business  with  my  man,  Ian 
Veg?" 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  returned  Ogilvie,  speaking  for 
his  mother,  "  that  is  thoughtfully  and  kindly  done." 

"  Well,  well,"  rejoined  the  laird  hastily.  "  Once — 
but  never  mind  that.  Harrowing  is  good  for  ploughed 
land,  but  bad  for  the  feelings,  Mr.  Ogilvie."  And  bow- 
ing, he  withdrew. 

"  Mother,  it  is  as  you  predicted,"  said  Duncan 
Ogilvie  softly.  "  Highland  delicacy  and  chivalry  are 
not  a  mere  tradition.  How  did  he  guess  ?  Come." 

So  she  led  them  slowly  by  the  old  familiar  ways, 
upstair  and  downstair,  along  narrow  passages,  into  ob- 
scure or  hidden  corners.  And  as  she  explained  how 
the  rooms  looked  in  the  days  when  she  was  mistress 
and  housemaid  in  one,  where  this  or  that  piece  of  fur- 
niture stood,  and  how  the  whole  was  arranged  and  set 
with  little  devices  of  her  own,  she  had  often  to  stop  in 
the  middle  of  a  sentence.  For  it  is  not  all  exultation 
that  conies  even  to  a  millionaire's  mother  when  she 
revisits  the  home  where  she  once  sat  sewing,  perhaps 
with  weary  hands  and  eyes,  that  he  might  be  dressed 
like  other  boys.  There  was  no  need  to  sew  now,  but — 
but 

"  Duncan,"  she  said,  coming  to  a  stand  in  an  upper 
room,  "  it  was  here  that  I  tried  on  your  first  kilt.  I 

59 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


have  a  bit  of  it  yet,  and  a  proud  woman  I  was,  for 
every  stitch  in  it  was  my  own.  Your  father  was  to 
drive  down  by  to  the  laird  with  his  rent,  and  was  taking 
you  with  him." 

She  turned  abruptly  to  look  out  of  the  window,  and 
Connie  gently  kissed  the  wet  face.  But  Duncan  Ogil- 
vie  stood  motionless  and  speechless,  as  under  a  spell, 
gazing  upon  himself  in  the  kilt  which  his  mother  had 
made.  And  the  financial  potentate,  whose  whispered 
word  excited  every  telegraph  wire  and  tape  machine 
on  two  continents,  forgot  his  heaps  of  gold  and  the 
fierce  joy  of  contention  and  the  rapture  of  victory. 
Ay,  the  multimillionaire,  whose  operations  dazzled 
the  imagination,  whose  name  had  a  magic  beyond  that 
of  the  magician's  wand,  was  again  a  penniless  boy, 
looking  up  proudly  at  his  mother  in  delight  over  his 
first  kilt.  And  in  that  moment  of  so  little  worth  seemed 
deeds  and  parchments,  safes  and  strong  rooms,  so  re- 
mote and  phantasmal  the  dusty  clangour  of  steel  high- 
ways, so  poor  the  satisfaction  of  controlling  them,  that 
if  a  wizard  had  offered  to  restore  the  past  on  condition 
that  present  wealth  were  surrendered,  he  would  joy- 
ously have  cried  out,  "  Yes,  yes,  take  it  all,  only  make 
me  a  boy  again  with  all  the  old  faces  about  me."  In 
very  truth  he  would  have  given  the  profits  on  many  a 
deal  in  Wall  Street  for  a  repetition  of  that  ride  with  his 
father  to  pay  the  laird  his  rent.  He  was  here  in  the  old 
place,  but  his  father — alas!  more  than  wide  seas  sep- 
arated them.  For 

"  Disappearing  and  passing  away 
Are  the  world,  and  the  ages,  and  we." 

A  laugh  under  the  window  recalled  all  three — a 
laugh  that  rang  clear  as  a  bell  with  merriment. 
It  was  Alick. 

60 


THE  LION'S  DEN 


"  My  God !  "  thought  Ogilvie,  "  I'd  give  a  million 
to  be  able  to  laugh  like  that." 

They  descended,  and  were  bidden  to  a  feast  which 
they  durst  not  decline,  though  they  had  scant  appetite. 
Janet  called  it  a  "  high  tea,"  and  Alick's  keen  nose 
told  him  how  it  came  that  that  morning  for  the  second 
time  he  had  got  a  half-holiday  to  catch  trout. 

From  outside,  as  the  company  sat  down,  came  the 
hum  of  the  pipes. 

"  I  hope  you  will  like  it,  Mrs.  Ogilvie,"  said  the 
laird  graciously.  "  I  told  Ian  Veg  to  play  some  of  the 
old  tunes." 

Mrs.  Ogilvie  was  glad,  in  spite  of  the  pain,  her  son 
was  silent  over  feelings  he  could  not  name,  but  Connie 
was  openly  gleeful,  for  old  memories  and  old  music 
did  not  harrow  her  soul. 

Ian  Veg  received  instructions  to  play  that  day  if  he 
had  never  played  before  and  never  hoped  to  play  again. 
But,  indeed,  the  mandate  was  unnecessary ;  for  Ian 
was  a  piper  born,  whose  joy  in  his  art  was  both  in- 
centive and  reward.  Two  things  he  did,  with  the  bril- 
liancy of  genius  and  no  sense  of  effort,  make  his 
chanter  discourse  melody,  and  lie  for  the  MacLean. 
He  lied  with  the  awesome,  convincing  innocence  of  a 
child.  When  he  took  the  pipes  potential  rivals  turned 
into  ravished  disciples.  For  himself,  he  had  one  last- 
ing regret — that  it  was  impossible  to  have  a  friendly 
trial  of  skill  with  the  MacCrimmon.  "  Man,"  he  de- 
clared once,  "  it  would  be  better  than  three  glasses  of 
whisky." 

Enthusiasm  could  go  no  further  than  that. 

For  consolation  he  rendered  the  great  man's  "  La- 
ment," so  that  all  the  grief  of  parting,  the  poignancy 
of  tragedy  and  death  wrung  the  listener's  heart.  It 
was  said  he  could  make  the  MacCrimmon  himself  first 

61 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


weep  in  pity  over  human  woe,  and  then  turn  green  with 
envy  of  the  art  that  drew  his  tears.  The  "  Lament " 
rose  now  as  if  the  moaning  of  women  and  the  desolate 
crying  of  children  and  the  stifled  sobs  of  strong  men — 
all  the  despair  and  anguish  of  breaking  hearts — were 
borne  on  the  wind  from  bleak  hillsides. 

"  No  more,  no  more,  no  more  for  ever, 
In  war  or  peace  shall  return  MacCrimmon; 
No  more,  no  more,  no  more  for  ever, 
Shall  love  or  gold  bring  back  MacCrimmon  !  " 

Mrs.  Ogilvie  listened  as  in  a  trance.  It  was  not  the 
sound  of  the  pipes  she  heard,  nor  the  brave  streaming 
of  the  ribbons  glancing  past  the  window  she  saw.  The 
laird  and  Duncan,  noting  her  far-off  look,  were  sym- 
pathetically silent.  Even  Connie's  face  was  dreamily 
melancholy. 

"  Balclutha  set  to  music,"  she  remarked  presently ; 
"  I  had  no  idea  the  pibroch  could  be  so  sad." 

"  You  will  know  now  what  is  meant  when  one  says 
that  the  pipes  wail,  Miss  Ogilvie,"  returned  the  laird. 

She  nodded.  What  she  fain  would  have  done  was 
to  lean  her  cheek  on  her  hand  and  muse  on  the  pathos 
of  human  destiny. 

But  Ian  Veg  had  changed  to  a  ranting  quick-step, 
and  the  company  pricked  up  unconsciously. 

"  Don't  you  think,  sir,  he  understood  human  nature 
who  first  sent  men  to  fight  on  music  ?  "  asked  Ogilvie. 

"  Ay,"  replied  the  laird,  "  the  music  keeps  the 
nasty,  cold  feeling  from  getting  about  the  heart." 

"  Truly  feudal,"  cried  Connie,  catching  a  glimpse 
of  the  strutting  Ian.  This  new  world  of  mediaevalism 
was  deliciously  quaint,  romantic,  and  restful  after  the 
hurry  and  burnished  glare  of  New  York;  and  Miss 
Connie  was  avid  of  new  sensations. 

62 


THE  LION'S   DEN 


Presently  Alick  was  summoned  to  dance,  and  he 
danced  with  such  enchanting  lightness  that  Connie  in- 
quired whether  he  had  not  springs  concealed  on  his 
feet. 

"  Not  springs,  but  a  spring,"  answered  the  laird 
jocosely.  "  It  is  with  the  Highland  dancer  as  with  the 
poet,  Miss  Ogilvie:  he  must  be  born,  he  cannot  be 
made." 

When  Alick  bowed,  glengarry  in  hand,  after  the 
sword  dance,  the  laird  regretted  that  for  lack  of  dancers 
they  could  not  have  a  reel.  "  But,"  said  he,  "  if  it's 
your  pleasure  when  Alick's  got  breath  again,  he'll  sing 
you  a  song." 

"A  Highland  song?"  inquired  Connie. 

Yes,  it  should  be  Highland,  that  is  to  say,  Gaelic. 
And  Alick  was  told  what  to  sing.  The  laird  well  knew 
what  he  was  about,  for  the  melody  which  flowed  from 
lan's  fingers  gushed  in  Alick's  voice.  It  was  a  pure 
gift,  exercised  without  thought  or  sense  until  the  boy 
came  under  the  influence  of  Ian.  That  worthy  had 
himself  been  wont  to  roar  out  "  Heather  Jock  "  and 
"  The  Wee  Drappie  o't,"  with  Gaelic  ditties  too  ex- 
pressive for  the  English  language;  but  with  the  ad- 
vent of  his  protege  he  sang  no  more,  except  in  a  hum- 
ming monotone  when  he  groomed  the  horses.  "  Alick, 
my  lad,"  he  said  one  day,  when  the  twain  were  together 
in  the  barn,  and  Alick  had  been  carolling  like  a  lark, 
"  though  ye  could  never  learn  to  pipe  till  the  Day  of 
Judgment,  it  iss  God's  truth  ye  can  sing.  When  Dun- 
veagle  goes  to  kingdom  come,  and  the  worst  happens 
to  you  and  me,  I'll  play  the  pipes  and  you'll  do  the  bit 
song,  and  maybe  fling  yer  heel  in  a  dance ;  that'll  get 
us  meat  and  drink." 

And  the  hopeful  received  a  whack  of  approbation 
which  sent  him  head  foremost  into  the  straw.  He  rose 

63 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


with  the  light  of  battle  in  his  eye,  but  Ian  smiled.  "  I'll 
overlook  yer  impidence,  Alick,"  he  remarked  blandly. 
"  Ye  haf  music  in  ye ;  come,  and  I'll  learn  ye  a  song." 

It  was  one  of  lan's  ballads — a  song  of  the  boatmen 
of  Argyle,  where  Ian  was  born — that  he  now  sang  with 
the  expression  of  a  cherub — 

"  Fhir  a'bhata,  na  horo-eile 
Fhir  a'bhata,  na  horo-eile 
Fhir  a'bhata,  na  horo-eile 
Gu  ma  slan-duif  s  gach  ait  'an  teid  thu," 

When  he  finished  Mrs.  Ogilvie's  eyes  were  glisten- 
ing, and  he  marvelled,  for  he  did  not  know  that  John 
Ogilvie  had  sung  the  same  song  in  that  room  fifty  years 
before. 

Miss  Ogilvie  was  enchanted,  not  by  the  poetry  and 
the  sentiment,  which  were  Hebrew  to  her,  but  by  the 
unstudied  sweetness  of  the  singer. 

"  You  must  come  to  the  castle,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
will  play  your  accompaniments,  and  perhaps  I  may  be 
able  to  help  you  in  learning  new  songs." 

But  her  father  had  other  thoughts  as  he  looked 
into  the  freckled  face  and  fearless  eye  of  Alick. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  you'll  make  a  spoon 
or  spoil  a  horn."  Alick  wondered  why  he  stared  so 
hard. 

The  laird,  sedulous  in  his  courtesies  to  the  close, 
regretted  the  speed  of  time  when  at  last  they  had  to  go ; 
but  when  he  and  Ian  stood  together  a  moment  watch- 
ing the  descending  carriage,  he  remarked,  "  They're 
safe  out  of  our  hands,  Ian ;  may  we  never  look  on  their 
faces  again." 

"  And  what  do  you  think,  sir?  "  responded  Ian  fero- 
ciously, "  they  gave  me  siller.  It  will  be  for  bad  luck, 
tarn  them ! "  And  he  spat  on  the  hand  that  held  the 
money. 

64 


CHAPTER   X 

CAPTAIN   MACLEAN   SEES  A  VISION 

Two  days  later  Craigenard  was  thrown  into  an 
ecstasy,  which  obliterated  all  thought  of  the  Ogilvies 
or  their  doings.  For  Norman,  with  the  dash  of  a  sol- 
dier, accomplished  a  surprise  by  arriving  ten  days  be- 
fore he  was  expected,  though  not  a  moment  before 
he  was  welcome.  Long  and  often  had  the  exile's  re- 
turn been  the  subject  of  passionate  reverie  and 
vehement  enthusiasm.  Ian  talked  of  tar  barrels  to  illu- 
minate the  countryside  ;  Janet  planned  pasties  and  con- 
fections enough  to  give  a  whole  army  an  indigestion ; 
and  through  many  a  twilight  hour  the  laird  brooded, 
at  once  fondly  and  bitterly,  on  his  son's  home-coming. 
So  much  had  happened  since  Norman  left,  and  the 
changes  were  so  tragic !  Poor  boy !  how  would  he  take 
it  all? 

A  reception  was  already  in  the  initial  stage,  when 
one  evening  at  dusk  the  hero  slipped  quietly  in  upon 
them,  making,  as  Ian  half-gleefully,  half-sorrowfully 
complained,  ducks  and  drakes  of  six  months'  hard 
planning.  And,  in  truth,  had  he  come  as  enemy  to 
seize,  sack,  burn,  and  put  to  the  sword,  he  could  scarce- 
ly have  caused  an  intenser  commotion.  Janet  wept 
openly  and  unashamed  as  if  he  were  her  very  own 
recovered  from  the  grave,  an  example  which  Maggie 
followed  out  of  pure  sympathy:  for  a  little  the  laird 

65 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


was  inarticulate  like  one  strangly  intoxicated ;  even 
Ian  was  unsteady.  In  the  general  giddiness  Alick 
alone  kept  his  head,  and  he  entertained  himself  with 
sarcastic  compliments  on  Maggie's  good  looks  when 
she  was  dissolved  in  tears,  a  gallantry  acknowledged 
with  the  besom. 

Thus  the  sun  went  down  on  a  delirium  of  joy.  It 
rose  next  morning  on  hearts  which,  if  beating  more 
equably,  still  overflowed  with  affection,  zeal,  and  good 
humour.  To  the  amazement  of  some  the  laird  himself 
fell  into  a  mood  of  cooing  softness,  almost  of  doting 
tenderness.  It  seemed  that  a  vacancy  in  his  heart  was 
filled,  and  that  at  last  he  was  content.  He  listened  as 
if  the  sound  of  Norman's  footstep  were  the  sweetest 
music,  gazed  as  if  no  face  in  all  the  world  but  his  were 
worth  looking  at.  Three  whole  days  this  tender  mood 
lasted ;  then  suddenly,  as  was  the  laird's  way,  came  an 
irruption.  On  the  fourth  afternoon  he  burst  out 
breathing  fury,  and  spying  Ian  and  Alick,  fell  on  them 
without  cause  or  pretext.  They  took  the  assault 
patiently  as  part  of  the  day's  fare,  but  when  he  swept 
on,  a  fiery  whirlwind,  Ian  looked  significantly  at  his 
companion.  "  Alick,  my  lad,"  he  said,  "  Dunveagle 
will  be  the  only  man  living  this  day  we  would  take  that 
from." 

For  half  the  injustice  which  the  laird  had  packed 
into  three  blasphemous  sentences  blood  had  been  shed. 
Alick's  black  eyes  were  glowing,  and  Alick's  veins 
tingled  viciously.  The  time  had  come  to  strike,  even  in 
the  case  of  Dunveagle.  But  there  Ian  corrected  him. 
It  was  the  laird's  privilege  to  miscall,  likewise  to  blas- 
pheme if  it  were  his  sovereign  pleasure,  and  any  man 
or  boy  who  thought  otherwise  should  have  the  fear 
of  God  and  a  sense  of  duty  put  into  him  with  a  hazel 
rung.  lan's  reasons  were  manifold  and  forcible;  but 

66 


CAPTAIN  MACLEAN   SEES   A   VISION 

the  chief  reason  was  this,  that  if  the  laird  did  wrong 
tenfold,  he  made  amends  an  hundredfold.  "  Ye  mind 
the  day,"  said  Ian,  "  that  he  grippit  and  threw  me  in 
his  rage.  I  could  hardly  keep  my  hands  off  him.  I 
canna  tell,  and  no  man  can  understand  how  they  fidged 
to  be  at  him.  But  by  the  grace  o'  God  I  was  able  to 
keep  mysel'  in.  How  could  I  ever  hold  up  my  head 
again  if  I  wass  to  give  way  and  mark  the  laird,  or 
maybe  kill  him,  too,  in  the  heat  ?  So  I  just  never  let 
on  but  he  was  playing  with  me.  Well,  away  he  went 
like  a  mad  bull,  after  knocking  me  down  and  calling 
me  all  the  bad  names  he  could  think  of.  Ye  ken,  Alick, 
what  a  power  o'  the  tongue  he  has." 

Alick  nodded  decisively. 

"  I  haf  heard  fish-wives  at  it,"  pursued  Ian,  "  but 
fuich !  they're  just  bairns  beside  the  laird  when  his 
dander's  up — just  bairns.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  off 
he  went,  snorting  and  tearing;  but  in  ten  minutes  he 
was  back.  '  Am  I  to  get  it  all  over  again,  my  lad  ? ' 
thinks  I,  for  it  came  into  my  head  that  maybe  he  was 
looking  for  somebody  else  to  have  a  go  at,  and  couldn't 
find  anybody,  and  so  was  to  have  at  me  again.  '  If 
I  am  to  have  another  dose,'  thinks  I,  '  it  will  be  harder 
to  keep  the  hands  quiet.'  But  that  wasn't  what  he 
wanted  at  all.  '  Go  in,  ye  tarn  fool,'  says  he,  '  and  get 
a  gless  of  whisky  from  Janet.  And  I  see  something's 
torn  yer  breeks ;  I  never  saw  yer  match  for  getting 
through  breeks,  Ian  Veg.  There's  a  pair  hinging 
behind  my  door;  tell  Janet  to  give  them  to  you,'  says 
he,  '  and  God's  sake,  man,  what  sort  of  a  coat  is  that 
to  wear  ?  What  haf  you  been  doing  that  it's  torn  like 
that  ?  '  says  he.  '  Tell  Janet  to  give  ye  the  coat  behind 
the  door  as  well  as  the  breeks.'  Now,  Alick,  you  may 
think  what  ye  like,  being  young  and  daft,  but  when  yer 
as  old  as  me  ye'll  understand  that  the  man  who  makes 

67 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


up  like  that  should  haf  the  leeberty  of  swearing  when 
it's  his  pleasure." 

Meanwhile  the  laird  had  met  Norman  and  thrust  a 
note,  the  cause  of  the  tumult,  into  his  hand. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  cried  the  outraged 
man.  "  If  old  Nick  ever  put  more  presumption  into 
one  little  act  I  have  never  heard  of  it." 

Norman  read  the  note  deliberately  and  with  an 
unmoved  countenance,  the  countenance  of  the  soldier 
inured  to  alarms  and  excitements. 

"  Why,  father,"  he  said,  handing  it  back,  "  I  should 
call  it  cordial  and  polite.  Of  course  you'll  go." 

Now  here  was  a  thing  which  the  laird  could  not 
have  believed  had  any  one  predicted  it,  for  no  man 
will  believe  treason  of  the  son  he  cherishes  in  his 
heart. 

"  Go ! "  he  repeated,  staring  in  a  kind  of  dismay. 
"  Go,  Norman !  Accept  an  invitation  from  the  Ogil- 
vies!  You  are  jesting." 

"  Upon  my  honour,  sir,  I  am  not,"  was  the  earnest 
response.  "  There's  a  certain  etiquette  to  be  observed 
in  these  things.  The  Ogilvies  were  here  as  your 
guests." 

"  Because  I  was  a  fool,"  cried  the  laird.  "  Because 
I  was  a  fool."  And  for  the  tenth  time  he  explained 
the  circumstances  of  the  invitation. 

"  Well,  they  seem  to  have  been  charmed  with  your 
reception,"  remarked  Norman. 

"  Ah,  just  so,"  returned  the  laird  quickly.  "  You 
see,  my  honour  was  at  stake.  Having  begun  by  mak- 
ing an  ass  of  myself,  I  had  to  go  through  with  it.  But 
when  I  saw  their  backs  going  down  hill  again  honour 
was  satisfied,  and  I  resolved  that  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned it  should  be  the  last  of  them.  You  call  this 
note  polite ;  I  construe  it  as  an  insult.  For  what  does 

68 


CAPTAIN  MACLEAN  SEES  A  VISION 

it  mean,  Norman — what  does  it  mean?  That  I  am 
bidden  by  usurpers  to  enter  my  own  house,  to  sit  at  my 
own  table  as  a  guest — a  stranger.  That  polite,"  he 
cried  explosively ;  "  I  could  give  you  a  fitter  word 
for  it." 

"  You  must  go,  father,"  said  Norman  quietly. 
"  You  were  nice  about  your  honour  the  other  day ; 
you  must  not  go  back  on  it  now." 

"  Do  I  understand,"  demanded  the  laird  hotly, 
"  that  you  counsel  me  to  accept  the  patronage,  ay,  and 
the  pity,  of  an  upstart  Ogilvie  who  smiles  upon  me 
because  he  has  accomplished  his  revenge?  I  did  not 
expect  that  from  any  son  of  mine.  And  I  tell  you,"  he 
went  on  in  a  rising  voice,  "  I  would  still  kick  an  Ogilvie 
out  of  my  way  as  I  would  kick  a  cur  that  comes  snarl- 
ing at  my  heels." 

"  Your  son,  sir,  understands  and  sympathises  in 
your  feelings,"  rejoined  Norman.  "  But  is  there  any 
use  in  brooding  too  much  on  our  wrongs  or  resenting 
the  inevitable?  We  simply  press  the  thorns  to  our 
bosom." 

"  Man,"  retorted  the  laird,  the  old  Adam  rampant 
within  him,  "  I  had  no  notion  you  were  so  fine  at  the 
preaching.  All  I  can  say  is  it  was  lucky  for  Solomon 
he  lived  early.  He'd  have  no  chance  with  the  wise 
young  men  of  to-day." 

"If  you  take  it  like  that,  sir,"  returned  Norman, 
with  admirable  self-command,  "  permit  me  to  apolo- 
gise and  retire.  I  dreamt  of  no  rivalry  with  Solomon. 
But  we  must  remember  that,  however  distasteful  the 
presence  of  the  Ogilvies  may  be,  after  all  it  is  not  their 
fault  that  we  are  no  longer  at  Dunveagle.  Common 
sense  tells  us  that." 

"  Ay,"  rejoined  the  laird,  nothing  softened,  "  you 
do  well  to  remind  me  of  my  misfortunes.  Common 

69 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


sense !  God,  you  can  have  your  common  sense  if  you 
give  me  common  justice !  " 

And  he  stalked  away  in  a  hot  indignation,  which 
now  included  Norman. 

Of  old  the  boy  had  a  proper  pride  and  a  natural 
and  just  resentment  when  cause  arose.  But  since  go- 
ing out  into  the  world,  it  appeared,  he  had  developed 
the  damnable  heresy  which  fools  misname  common 
sense,  correctly  the  detestable,  spiritless  habit  of  say- 
ing "  Kismet "  when  the  other  side  wins.  Hence  the 
suggestion  that  the  man  robbed  of  his  inheritance 
should  honour  people  who  were  hand-in-glove  with 
the  robbers.  Well,  he  would  see  his  enemies  in  the 
hottest  spot  beyond  Jordan  before  letting  them  patron- 
ise him  in  his  own  house.  He  would  not  do  it,  no,  not 
if  the  sun  and  the  moon  stood  still  for  witness. 

Yet  Norman's  words,  coming  from  between  those 
firm  lips  and  accompanied  by  that  look  from  the 
straight,  honest  eyes,  troubled  him.  "  Must  go,"  he 
kept  repeating  to  himself ;  "  must  go." 

The  question,  on  reconsideration,  was  how  to  find 
a  plausible  excuse  for  not  going. 

Later  in  the  day  Ian  Veg,  going  hillward  among 
the  sheep,  was  struck  breathless  by  a  singular  sight, 
nothing  less  than  his  master  leaping  to  and  fro  across 
a  burn  like  one  bereft  of  his  wits.  More  than  once  the 
gymnast  stumbled  and  went  down,  but  instantly  he 
was  up  and  at  it  again  as  for  a  wager. 

"  The  laird  is  gyte,"  said  Ian  to  himself,  a  super- 
stitious tremor  chilling  his  blood.  He  thought  of  the 
Ogilvies  and  cursed  them.  Had  they  smitten  the  poor 
man  with  the  Evil  Eye,  or  merely  by  some  outrage 
made  him  mad?  And  while  Ian  speculated  the  laird 
rolled  heavily,  as  rolls  the  huntsman  that  comes  a 
cropper  at  a  ditch,  and  this  time  he  did  not  attempt  to 

70 


CAPTAIN  MACLEAN  SEES  A  VISION 

rise.  Ian  saw  him  examine  his  foot  and  look  about 
him.  At  that  sign  of  helplessness  Ian  descended  with 
an  admirably  feigned  air  of  ignorance,  and  tramped, 
whistling,  across  an  open  space.  A  shout  brought  him 
to  and  a  beckoning  wave  of  the  hand  made  him  hasten 
in  surprise  to  his  master. 

"  I  was  jumping  this  confounded  burn,  Ian,"  the 
laird  explained,  as  if  he  had  come  to  grief  in  the  course 
of  an  ordinary  walk,  "  and  I'm  foundered  again.  Do 
you  think  you  could  give  me  a  lift  home  ?  " 

He  got  the  lift,  and,  reaching  home,  took  to  band- 
ages and  an  easy  chair  with  a  grim  satisfaction  over 
which  Ian  speculated  with  much  intelligence  and  eager 
interest. 

In  the  meantime  Norman  had  borrowed  Alick's 
fishing  tackle  and  betaken  himself,  like  a  philosopher 
out  of  employment,  to  the  Veagle  water.  Without 
thought  he  took  a  familiar  path  through  heath  and 
tough  upland  grass,  grey  lichened  rocks,  bracken  and 
fir,  and  so  down  precipitous  ways  into  a  cathedral  dim- 
ness, musical  with  leafy  murmur  and  rustle  and  song 
of  bird.  Ah,  God !  how  good  it  was  to  be  back  in  Dun- 
veagle  Woods  after  nearly  ten  years  of  the  white  dust 
and  gaunt  aridity  of  India !  Along  the  cool,  odorifer- 
ous aisles  he  swung,  ankle-deep  in  moss,  or  tripped 
down  stairs  of  tree  roots  with  the  feet  and  heart  of  a 
boy  perhaps  into  an  embowered  dimple  abloom  with 
bluebells  and  wild  roses,  where  he  would  pause  inhal- 
ing spice ;  then,  again,  into  the  vaulted  alleys,  where 
the  sunshine  entered  in  filtered  drops  of  gold.  The 
brushwood  was  often  thick  and  the  path  imaginary, 
but  it  was  as  a  dozen  years  of  life  recovered  to  thrust 
the  branches  aside  and  feel  the  soft  smiting  of  leaves 
on  the  face. 

On  the  edge  of  a  tiny  opening  he  leaned  against  a 
71 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


great  rock  warm  with  sun  and  moss,  and  looked  round 
in  a  trance  of  delight.  Upward  the  massy  woods 
surged  gloriously,  here  a  waving,  tempestuous  green, 
there  a  ripple  of  silver  as  the  wind  caught  the  foliage 
from  below  or  pressed  it  sidelong;  beyond  were  the 
hills  in  their  summer  veils  of  blue,  and  in  his  ears  were 
the  voices  of  waterfalls.  One  fall  was  close  at  hand. 
By  passing  round  the  rock  against  which  he  leaned  he 
could  drink  of  the  stream,  the  clearest  and  coldest,  it 
was  said,  in  all  that  hill  country. 

When  presently  he  stepped  forth  he  came  upon 
something  which  made  him  start  back  as  with  a  sense 
of  wanton  intrusion.  A  slim,  girlish  figure  in  white  lay 
on  the  brink  of  the  burn  face  down,  gazing  into  the 
water.  Beside  her  on  the  grass  lay  a  straw  hat,  care- 
lessly flung  off,  and  the  daintily  slippeced  feet  were 
turned  upward  to  the  day.  Though  thus  prone,  she 
gave  the  impression  of  agility  and  supple  grace,  and  as 
she  gazed  the  toes  drummed  in  sweet  content. 

There  is  a  strange  magnetism  in  a  man's  eyes  when 
they  happen  to  be  fixed  on  a  maid.  All  at  once  she 
turned  her  head,  then  instantly  she  was  up  like  a  startled 
fay  and  fastening  on  her  hat.  A  vision  of  beauty  held 
Norman  as  in  a  spell  of  bewilderment.  He  felt  rather 
than  saw  that  she  was  fair;  that  her  hair,  touched  by 
the  sun  to  something  rarer  than  gold,  threatened  to 
slip  from  its  bonds;  that  she  was  of  medium  height, 
and  divinely,  that  is  to  say  becomingly,  dressed.  Sud- 
denly he  marked  the  crimson  in  her  face,  and  was 
ashamed  as  one  who  unwittingly  plays  the  spy.  It  was 
almost  like  surprising  Psyche  in  her  bath. 

Their  eyes  met:  hers,  as  it  seemed,  in  appeal;  his 
for  once  abashed  and  confused.  He  would  have  fled 
as  one  guilty  of  sacrilege,  but  to  fly  without  a  word 
would  but  aggravate  the  sin ;  therefore,  doffing  his  cap, 

72 


CAPTAIN  MACLEAN  SEES  A  VISION 

he  made  the  appropriate  apology.  At  that  she  smiled, 
and  though  counting  many  pretty  women  among  his 
friends,  Captain  Norman  MacLean  had  never  in  all  his 
life  seen  the  match  of  that  smile. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  she  responded,  an  enchanting 
embarrassment  in  her  manner,  "  you  couldn't  know 
that  I  was  here  watching  fish  at  play,  could  you  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  a  trespasser,  and  therefore  doubly  an 
intruder,"  he  explained. 

"  Oh,"  she  laughed,  "  you  were  only  going  through 
the  woods.  It  cannot  be  a  deadly  crime  to  go  through 
iihe  woods,  even  in  Scotland,  the  country  of  notice- 
'boards  and  standing  threats  of  prosecution." 

She  was  actually  finding  excuses  for  him  then. 
Had  he  come  upon  a  new  order  of  being,  or  was  the 
old  order  endowed  with  a  magical  charm?  Her  in- 
tonation, he  noticed,  was  neither  Scotch  nor  English, 
but  a  blend  of  both,  with  something  pretty  and  piquant 
added. 

Before  running  away  he  feasted  yet  a  little  more, 
insensibly  and  because  he  could  not  help  himself.  He 
marked  the  fine  intelligence  of  the  full  brown  eyes,  the 
curve  of  the  slender  neck,  rising  like  the  white  stalk 
of  a  flower  from  a  ruffle  of  lace ;  followed  the  gentle 
swell  of  the  bosom,  and  the  folds  of  the  rich  oriental 
sash  at  her  waist,  the  spirit  of  an  old  chant  beating 
along  his  veins — 

"Beauty,  all  must  follow  thee  ; 
Beauty,  Beauty,  obey,  obey." 

She  turned  back  to  the  stream  with  a  renewed  flush, 

which  her  fair,  clear  complexion  made  the  more  vivid. 

"  One  sees  to  the  very  bottom  of  these  pools,"  she 

remarked  irrelevantly.      "  The  fountain  of  Bandusia 

couldn't  have  been  clearer.     The  fish  haven't  much 

6  73 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


chance  of  hiding,  poor  things.  I  fancy  the  water  must 
be  deep." 

Norman  MacLean  went  back  half  a  generation  to 
the  time  when  he  used  to  bathe  in  that  very  pool. 

"  Twenty  feet  at  least  just  in  front  of  you,"  he  said. 
"  But,  you  see,  being  scooped  out  of  the  living  rock, 
and  having  nothing  muddier  than  sand  in  the  bottom, 
it  is  perfectly  transparent." 

She  was  mistress  of  herself  now,  the  flood  of  crim- 
son had  ebbed,  but  the  eyes  were  still  exceedingly 
bright  with  a  sort  of  gracious  mockery,  as  it  seemed  to 
Norman. 

"  Do  you  fish  here  ?  "  she  asked,  glancing  at  his  rod 
and  basket. 

"  Where  the  trout  can  see  every  move  you  make  it 
would  be  idle  to  fish,"  he  answered. 

He  apologised  again  and  was  turning  to  go,  when 
there  came  a  rustling  on  the  other  side,  and  the  face 
of  Mr.  Ogilvie  appeared,  framed  in  the  sundered  foli- 
age. Behind  him,  peering  intently,  stood  Mr.  Rollo 
Linnie,  a  young  gentleman  of  whom  this  history  shall 
have  more  to  relate.  Captain  MacLean  cast  a  back- 
ward glance,  but  did  not  stay  his  step,  and  in  another 
moment  was  out  of  sight. 

"  Con,  what  on  earth  have  you  been  about  ?  "  asked 
her  father. 

"  Watching  the  trout  here,"  she  answered,  "  and 
that  gentleman  on  his  way  to  fish  stumbled  on  me. 
Poor  fellow,  he  was  as  flustered  as  if  he  had  come 
plump  on  a  company  of  witches  in  the  midst  of  their 
orgies." 

"  We  thought  we  had  lost  you,"  said  her  father. 

Mr.  Rollo  Linnie  said  nothing,  but  Connie  noticed 
he  was  scowling. 

74 


CHAPTER   XI 

ENTER   MR.    ROLLO    LINNIE 

WHEN  Norman  returned  to  Craigenard,  wondering 
whether  the  storm  had  blown  over,  he  was  surprised  to 
find  his  father  in  bandages  and  a  remarkably  compla- 
cent frame  of  mind.  Though  the  swathed,  outstretched 
foot  suggested  pain,  the  laird's  face  bore  an  expression 
of  beatitude,  such  as  comes  to  the  martyr  in  the  mo- 
ment of  supreme  triumph.  He  was  smoking  peace- 
fully, and  when  Norman  expressed  concern  at  sight 
of  the  bandages,  he  looked  up  as  to  say,  "  Don't 
you  go  to  the  trouble  of  pitying  me,  because  you  don't 
understand.  I  am  perfectly  happy  in  my  suffering. 
You  who  are  cursed  with  false  ideas  of  things  can  have 
no  notion  of  the  bliss  that  is  in  my  soul." 

He  explained  contentedly  that  he  had  been  "  up  in 
the  hill  a  bit,"  had  leaped  a  burn,  and  being,  he  sup- 
posed, less  agile  than  of  old,  had  fallen  and  done  that. 

"  So  you  may  just  write  for  me,  Norman,"  he 
added,  "  and  say  that  a  second  sprain  of  the  ankle  pre- 
vents me  from  accepting  the  hospitality  of  the  Ogil- 
vies."  He  brought  out  the  words  in  a  tone  of  triumph. 
"  Doubtless  they  have  friends  who  would  in  any  case 
be  more  appreciative." 

But  before  the  order  could  be  obeyed  Mr.  Ogilvie's 
nigger  footman  brought  a  second  note  extending  the 
invitation  to  Norman,  of  whose  arrival  news  had 

75 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


reached  the  castle.  Norman  handed  the  note  to  his 
father. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  old  man  on  reading  it,  a  red  glim- 
mer coming  into  his  eye,  "  and  one  of  Duncan's  black 
cattle  has  brought  this,  eh  ?  Well,  what  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"  What  would  you  advise,  father?  "  asked  Norman 
in  turn. 

"  Get  a  sprained  ankle,"  returned  the  laird  curtly. 

Norman  laughed.  "  I'll  consider  for  a  minute  while 
Janet  entertains  the  messenger,"  he  said,  and  went  out, 
leaving  his  father  on  a  rising  tide  of  disgust  and  alarm. 
For  to  the  laird  hesitation  in  such  a  case  was  one  of  the 
unpardonable  sins.  "  Consider,"  he  repeated,  "  con- 
sider," and  he  swung  his  foot  off  the  chair  with  an  ex- 
pletive the  reverse  of  saintly. 

Unwittingly  he  did  his  son  an  injustice,  for  in  truth 
there  was  neither  doubt  nor  hesitation  in  Norman's 
mind.  What  really  occupied  it  was  a  vision  of  an  an- 
gelic figure  in  white,  a  pair  of  warm  brown  eyes,  and 
a  mass  of  lovely  riotous  hair  with  the  glint  of  ripe  wheat 
in  scudding  sun-bursts.  He  easily  guessed  who  she 
was;  yet  she  had  shown  no  vestige  of  the  pride  of 
wealth,  nor  resentment  at  being  disturbed  in  the  pri- 
vacy of  her  own  grounds.  On  the  contrary  she  seemed 
eager  to  apologise  for  being  in  his  way.  A  shepherd's 
daughter  could  not  have  been  more  simple  or  natural ; 
a  daughter  of  the  gods  more  beautiful.  So  the  answer 
was  written  according  to  the  heart's  impulse;  also, 
the  writer  thought,  according  to  the  laws  of  good 
breeding  and  neighbourly  feeling ;  but  without  further 
consultation  with  the  laird. 

In  the  midst  of  his  turmoil  Norman  recalled  the 
glimpse  of  Linnie's  lean  face  peering  like  a  fox's,  and 
he  made  no  doubt  that  the  good  Rollo  was  on  the 

76 


ENTER  MR.   ROLLO  LINNIE 

prowl  after  the  fashion  of  his  house.  That  house  had 
an  interesting  and  instructive  history.  Some  fourscore 
years  before,  two  young  men,  Scots  advocates,  shook 
the  unproductive  dust  of  Edinburgh  off  their  feet  and 
took  the  road  to  London.  One  was  named  Henry 
Brougham,  and  he  had  the  temper  and  muscle  of  a 
bully ;  the  other  was  Alexander  Linnie,  and  in  his  soft 
adaptability  he  realised  to  the  utmost  the  apostle's 
ideal  of  being  all  things  to  all  men,  though  his  aims 
were  scarcely  apostolic.  Both  struck  root  in  the  new 
soil  and  flourished,  for  it  is  a  soil  that  yields  increase 
to  the  good  husbandman.  The  bully  tore  and  shoul- 
dered his  way  up  till  men  hailed  him  as  Lord  High 
Chancellor.  As  for  his  deeds,  they  are  written  in  the 
book  of  the  chronicles  of  the  lawyers  of  England.  You 
will,  however,  search  that  compendious  work  in  vain 
for  a  record  of  the  deeds  of  Alexander  Linnie.  One 
afternoon  at  the  door  of  Westminster  Hall  he  bade  his 
friend  good-bye.  "  I  won't  be  here  to-morrow,"  he 
said.  "  Life  is  short,  Henry,  besides  being  somewhat 
uncertain ;  and  time  flies.  My  stomach  cries  out 
against  this  weary  waiting  for  better  dinners.  I  go 
where  I  think  the  fare  is  ampler.  Heaven  bless  you." 

What  followed  amazed  some  and  moved  more  to 
envy.  There  was  a  plunge  into  the  "  black  pool  of 
agio,"  that  is  to  say,  a  haunting  of  dim,  questionable 
alleys  hard  by  Threadneedle  and  Throgmorton  Streets. 
A  little  later  Mr.  Linnie  received  his  friends  in  an  airy 
office,  sumptuously  upholstered.  One  day  Henry 
Brougham  called,  hard,  gaunt,  sour  as  unripe  sloes, 
and  Mr.  Linnie,  fancying  he  looked  hungry,  ordered  a 
two-guinea  luncheon. 

"  You  do  the  thing  in  style,"  growled  Henry. 

"  As  you  see,"  returned  Mr.  Linnie,  smiling  be- 
nignly ;  "  and  I  know  just  enough  of  the  law,  my  dear 

77 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Brougham,  to  keep  clear  of  it."  A  deep  saying  which 
not  every  one  could  interpret.  The  future  Chancellor 
nodded — he  understood. 

The  good  sailor  can  run  close  to  the  wind ;  and  Mr. 
Linnie's  legal  knowledge  was  invaluable.  Israelites  sat 
at  his  feet  as  a  later  and  greater  Gamaliel,  and  he  is 
born  to  make  money  who  can  guide  the  Jew  in  the 
shady  labyrinths  of  finance.  There  were  whispers  of 
transactions  which  made  mere  men  of  the  world  stare. 
Where  was  the  law?  they  asked  foolishly.  Timid  and 
ignorant  people  fear  or  reverence  the  law  as  an  all- 
powerful  enemy  or  ally.  Mr.  Linnie  slapped  the  law 
on  the  back  as  the  Irishman  slapped  the  devil,  for  a 
jolly  good  fellow  that  knows  how  to  do  a  friend  a  good 
turn.  While  moralists  wagged  their  sapient  heads,  Mr. 
Linnie's  fortunes  swelled  nobly. 

In  due  time  came  an  estate  in  Scotland ;  and  when 
Alexander  Linnie  went  to  his  fathers,  it  was  with  the 
satisfaction  of  having  done  excellently  well  in  this 
world,  whatever  might  betide  in  the  next.  Truth  to 
tell,  he  did  not  vex  himself  about  the  hereafter. 

"  One  world  at  a  time,  my  friend,"  he  laughed  once 
when  a  preacher  became  serious.  "  One  world  at  a 
time.  It  ought  to  be  enough  for  any  reasonable  being ; 
I  assure  you  it  is  enough  for  me.  Besides,  how  are 
you  to  prepare  for  what  you  don't  know?  Be  sure 
that  when  the  time  comes  I  will  do  my  very  best  to 
adapt  myself  to  circumstances.  Thanks  for  your 
friendly  interest.  Good  evening." 

It  happened  opportunely  that  when  he  desired  to 
invest  in  land  and  found  a  family  the  spirit  of  progress 
was  clearing  out  decayed  Highland  lairds.  He  made 
his  selection,  and  built  a  mansion  on  the  edge  next  to 
his  neighbour's  best  land.  "  Why  on  the  edge  ?  "  he 
was  asked,  and  he  answered  significantly  in  the  Scots 

78 


ENTER  MR.   HOLLO  LINNIE 

phrase,  "  We'll  shog  yont."  He  was  on  the  point  of 
shogging  yont  when  death  intervened. 

Three  sons  enjoyed  the  fruits  of  his  well-devised 
labour.  Two  got  their  portions  in  cash,  entered  the 
great  world,  and  died  gallantly  in  the  pursuit  of  pleas- 
ure. The  third  took  the  estate,  and  settled  to  the  ar- 
duous duties  of  a  country  gentleman  devoted  to  sport. 
Fate  revels  in  irony;  her  malice  is  especially  tickled 
when  young  bloods  take  to  scattering  piles  of  labori- 
ously accumulated  gold,  A  practical  philosopher 
reckons  there  are  but  three  generations  between  shirt 
sleeves  and  shirt  sleeves.  The  time  came  when  the 
great-grandson  of  Alexander  Linnie  discerned  shirt 
sleeves  ahead  more  clearly  than  was  at  all  pleasant,  and 
he  bethought  him  how  they  were  to  be  thrust  out  of 
sight.  "  Lord !  no  shirt  sleeves  in  my  day,"  he  prayed, 
with  an  unction  of  the  inmost  soul.  Wherefore  Rollo 
was  bred  to  the  law,  encouraged  by  the  shining  ex- 
ample of  his  great-grandfather  and  dropped  into  the 
multitudinous  sea  of  London  to  bring  up  what  pearls 
he  could. 

Now  in  London  it  has  pleased  Providence  to  set 
fools  and  wise  men  in  the  proportion  of  ten  thousand  to 
one.  Thus  the  man  of  wit  has  a  wide  choice,  and  Mr. 
Rollo  Linnie  was  no  fool.  Latter-day  morality  mixes 
and  refines  too  much,  compounding  merits  and  defects 
so  thinly  that  genius,  which  thrives  on  lustiness,  dies  of 
inanition.  Not  by  half  measures  are  eminent  saints  or 
sinners  made  ;  not  by  keeping  the  ear  bent  to  catch  the 
voice  of  conscience  do  practical  men  come  to  great- 
ness. Happily  for  himself,  Mr.  Rollo  Linnie's  gifts 
were  virginal  and  unadulterate.  Therefore  he  played 
the  game  without  scruple.  He  saw  misguided  people 
dash  headlong  into  action  and  smiled.  Intuition  and 
an  aversion  to  toil  enabled  him  very  early  to  divine  that 

79 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


the  chief  end  of  man  is  not  gained  by  vulgar  work,  and 
he  meant  to  travel  to  fortune  by  the  easiest  and  quick- 
est way. 

"  Pooh,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  answered,  when  some 
one  asked  when  he  intended  to  buckle  to,  "  the  art  of 
success  lies  in  getting  others  to  buckle  to  for  you.  I 
am  developing  my  plans." 

"  Setting  your  snares,"  quoth  the  other  unkindly. 

Linnie  only  smiled. 

"  Show  me  a  man  who  goes  into  any  worldly  trans- 
action to  benefit  the  other  side,  and  I'll  pull  up  stakes," 
he  returned.  "  Till  then " 

"  Number  one,"  put  in  the  other. 

"  And,  my  dear  sir,"  answered  Linnie,  "  to  whom 
or  to  what  does  a  man  owe  devotion  if  not  to  number 
one  ?  I  love  to  think  that  charity,  like  other  virtures, 
begins  at  home.  Ta,  ta." 

In  London  his  good  angel  procured  him  an  intro- 
duction to  the  Ogilvies,  whom  he  instantly  recognised 
as  big  game.  He  followed  them  to  Scotland,  and 
Teviot  Hall  being  within  easy  distance  of  Dunveagle, 
the  elder  Linnie  as  representing  the  county  families 
promptly  took  the  millionaire  under  his  wing.  This  he 
did  partly  on  his  own  account,  but  chiefly  on  his  son's. 
For  with  luck  and  the  blessing  of  heaven,  Rollo's 
angling  might  have  golden  results. 


80 


CHAPTER  XII 

TREASON 

THE  laird  on  his  craggy  height  tore  the  wrappings 
from  his  foot,  lit  his  pipe,  wasting  half  a  box  of  fusees 
in  the  process,  and  betook  himself  in  a  fever  of  vexa- 
tion to  the  solitude  of  the  hills  to  think.  As  a  pre- 
liminary he  tried  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  Janet  and 
failed.  That  incensed  him  the  more,  and  striding  forth, 
he  found  excuse  for  calling  Ian  Veg  the  biggest  ass 
in  three  counties. 

"  You  might  be  a  Sassenach  or  a  Yankee  for  all  the 
sense  you  have,"  he  roared.  "  I  don't  know  what  I 
do  with  you  here." 

"  Nor  me,  too,  sir,"  answered  Ian  meekly.  And 
the  laird,  again  baffled,  passed  on,  snorting.  It  is 
idle  to  waste  words  on  a  man  who  won't  fight. 
Alick  escaped  a  trouncing  by  being  absent  on  an  er- 
rand. 

Such  exercises  scarcely  conduce  to  calm  thinking, 
and  in  truth  the  laird  was  furiously  wroth.  For  his 
son,  the  apple  of  his  eye,  the  guardian  of  his  honour, 
was  guilty  of  a  crime  too  heinous  for  speech — the 
crime  of  bending  the  knee  to  the  enemy.  In  the  past 
the  MacLeans  had  bled  for  their  faith,  suffered  fines 
and  confiscation,  lived  like  foxes  in  holes  and  caves  of 
the  earth ;  but  never  in  love  or  hate  had  they  flinched. 
For  their  friends  the  open  hall ;  for  their  foes  the  un- 

81 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


sheathed  sword — that  had  always  been  the  religion  of 
the  MacLeans.    But  now — 

"  '  Will  you  walk  into  my  parlour  ?  '  said  the  spider  to  the  fly." 

And  the  fly  walked  in  eagerly. 

Had  the  sun  of  India  withered  Norman's  pride  that 
he  should  demean  -his  father's  house  ?  Had  a  degen- 
erate world  corrupted  him  to  the  forgetting  of  the 
blood  that  flowed  in  his  veins? 

"  You  must  go,  father,"  he  had  said,  bending  to 
disgrace.  The  laird  had  revolted  at  thought  of  that 
base  surrender;  but  unhappily  he  could  not  put  his 
son  in  chains,  and  blind  with  infatuation,  Norman  went 
off  at  the  first  beckoning  to  sit  at  the  Ogilvies'  table, 
to  drink  the  Ogilvies'  wine,  doubtless  to  revel  in  the 
Ogilvies'  magnificence.  Worse  yet,  he  returned  in  a 
flush  of  gratification. 

"  The  Ogilvies  are  very  pleasant  people,"  he  dared 
to  say.  "  You  do  them  an  injustice.  I  assure  you 
they're  delightful — no  side,  no  pretence,  no  humbug 
of  any  sort  for  all  their  wealth." 

Unable  to  answer  fittingly,  the  laird  took  to  the 
heather  to  consider  his  shame.  For  companion  he 
had  Moses,  the  wise  old  deerhound,  so  named,  the  laird 
once  explained,  because  he  was  an  incarnation  of  that 
spirit  of  meekness  which  led  the  great  lawgiver  to  slay 
the  Egyptian.  Many  a  solitary  walk  the  pair  had  to- 
gether, communing  like  brothers.  When  the  laird  fell 
into  one  of  his  violent  tantrums,  Moses  wagged  his 
tail  in  lively  sympathy  and  appreciation.  Similarly, 
when  Moses,  in  the  interest  of  his  own  dignity,  found 
it  necessary  to  turn  over  an  impudent  mongrel  cur 
and  make  the  fangs  meet  in  its  throat,  the  laird 
was  ever  ready  to  uphold  him  against  the  owner  of 
the  mangled  dog.  Each  had  the  talent  for  war;  and 

82 


TREASON 

both  contrived  to  get  a  great  deal  of  their  favourite 
amusement. 

On  a  mossy  stone  in  the  hollow  of  the  hills  the  laird 
sat,  anger  and  dejection  working  upon  him  in  almost 
equal  parts.  At  his  feet  Moses  crouched  expectantly. 

"  Tell  you  what  it  is,  Moses,  my  boy,"  remarked 
the  laird,  looking  down.  "  This  world  is  going  post- 
haste to  perdition." 

Moses  wagged  his  tail  as  if  the  sentiment  were  ex- 
actly his  own. 

"  Going  to  perdition,"  repeated  the  laird.  "  Yes ; 
there's  no  doubt  of  it  when  a  man  can  no  longer  de- 
pend on  his  own  flesh  and  blood." 

The  shaggy,  upturned  countenance  looked  exceed- 
ingly sage;  the  eye  seemed  moist  with  pity. 

"  Ah,  Moses !  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  a 
father." 

Whereat  the  eye  of  Moses  gleamed  with  a  new  emo- 
tion, as  if  to  say,  "  My  dear  friend  and  master,  don't 
you  rush  to  conclusions.  You  know  the  frailty  of 
man ;  but  have  you  fathomed  the  folly  of  dogs  ?  Be- 
lieve me,  a  dog  has  his  own  troubles.  Ah !  these  family 
vexations." 

For  half  an  hour  the  laird  bent,  chin  sunk  on  breast, 
in  a  fiery  reverie ;  and  Moses,  finding  his  interest  gone, 
went  placidly  to  sleep,  for  a  dog  in  the  sun  is  the  model 
of  a  practical  philosopher.  His  master,  less  happy, 
was  turning  over  for  the  twentieth  time  the  iniquity  of 
the  world  and  the  tragic  lot  of  fathers,  when  he  was 
disturbed  by  the  click  of  an  iron-shod  boot  on  a  stone, 
and  looking  up  quickly  he  saw  Alick's  back  bobbing 
out  of  sight.  Putting  his  fingers  in  his  mouth,  he 
whistled  peremptorily.  Moses  sprang  to  his  feet, 
bristles  on  end,  growling.  Knowing  better  than  to 
disregard  such  a  summons,  Alick  promptly  wheeled, 

83 


A   SON   OF  GAD 


"  Come  back  here,"  shouted  the  laird,  as  if  Alick 
were  an  escaping  criminal.  Alick  obeyed,  and  Moses 
lay  down  again,  his  nose  between  his  forepaws,  alert 
for  emergencies. 

"  Well,  and  where  have  you  been,  eh  ?  "  demanded 
the  laird  severely. 

"  Up  in  the  hill,  sir,"  answered  Alick  in  his  most 
innocent  manner. 

"  Ah,  just  so !  "  retorted  the  laird ;  "  though  you 
mightn't  think  it,  I  can  still  make  out  you  must  have 
been  up  before  you  could  come  down.  Heh !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  admitted  Alick,  shifting  uneasily  from 
one  foot  to  the  other. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  laird,  keeping  a  glittering 
eye  on  the  boy,  "  I'm  old,  and  a  bit  gone  in  the  head 
and  feet — withering  top  and  bottom,  as  a  clever  fellow 
like  you  would  say — but  I  have  still  wit  enough  to 
understand  one  must  go  up  before  one  can  come  down. 
Yes,  indeed.  Now,  if  it's  a  fair  question,  Alick  Ruah, 
what  were  you  doing  up  in  the  hill  ?  " 

"  Seeing  Donald,  sir." 

Donald  was  the  shepherd  of  the  upper  reaches,  and 
lived  in  a  sheiling  in  a  cory  far  above,  where  the  deer 
fed  in  winter  and  the  Highland  cattle  grazed  in 
summer. 

The  laird  bent  a  little  forward,  looking  keenly  at 
Alick  out  of  eyes  narrowed  to  mere  pinholes. 

"  Seeing  Donald,"  he  repeated ;  "  you  leave  your 
work  in  the  middle  of  the  day  to  make  calls.  We'll 
not  speak  of  such  trifles  as  waste  of  time  and  money. 
Was  it  on  business  you  went,  or  just  in  the  beaten  way 
of  friendship,  as  the  fellow  in  the  play  says  ?  " 

On  chance  that  the  question  might  be  a  joke,  Alick 
laughed,  but  the  laugh  died  in  mid-course. 
•   "  Fine  fun,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  the  laird,  with  a  terrible 
84 


TREASON 

dryness.  "  Man,  I  like  a  laddie  with  some  notion  of 
humour  in  his  head,  for  it's  the  plain  truth,  Alick  Ruah, 
that  not  every  one  has  the  wit  to  laugh  in  the  right 
place.  I'm  not  sure  that  I'm  too  well  gifted  in  that 
respect  myself.  But  that's  by  the  way.  As  between 
master  and  man,  will  you  tell  me,  now,  what  you  were 
seeing  Donald  about  ?  " 

"  The  gathering,"  answered  Alick. 

The  laird  hitched  himself  forward  an  inch  or  two, 
as  if  to  get  to  closer  quarters. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  "  the  gathering ;  and  will  you  have 
the  goodness  to  tell  me  who  sent  you  to  see  Donald 
•about  the  gathering  ?  " 

_.i;.  He  spoke  quietly,  but  Alick's  acute  ear  detected 
the  prelude  of  tempest  in  the  tone. 

"  Ian  Veg,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  who  told  Ian  Veg  to  send  you  ?  " 

"  I— I  don't  know,  sir." 

"  Alick  Ruah,"  said  the  laird,  bending  yet  a  little 
further  forward,  "  you're  a  hard  bit  of  a  nut  to  crack, 
but  we're  going  to  reach  the  kernel  this  time.  Now, 
think  again,  and  tell  me  who  asked  Ian  Veg  to  send 
you  to  Donald." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I'm  not  sure,"  replied  Alick,  with 
great  earnestness ;  "  but  it's  in  my  mind,  sir,  it  was 
the  captain." 

"  Do  you  think,  Alick  Ruah,  that  by  any  chance 
you  would  be  likely  to  catch  a  weasel  asleep  when 
there's  mice  and  rabbits  and  things  about  ?  " 

"  No,  sir."  Alick's  reply  was  prompt  and  em- 
phatic, for  he  knew  the  weasel. 

"  I  was  thinking  that,"  said  the  laird.  "  When 
Alick's  interested  his  weather  eye  is  uncommonly 
wide,  and  a  thing  doesn't  get  into  his  mind  for 
or  without  reason.  And  you  tell  me  it  was  by  the 

85 


A  SON   OF  GAD 


tain's  orders  Ian  Veg  sent  you  to  Donald.  One  point 
more,  have  you  in  your  own  mind  any  notion  why  the 
captain  gave  Ian  Veg  such  an  order  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  not  a  notion,"  was  the  quick  response. 
For  once  Alick  was  gratified  to  be  able  to  plead  honest, 
downright  ignorance. 

"  You're  quite  in  the  dark,"  remarked  the  laird. 
"  Well,  can  you  tell  me  about  the  gathering?  I  haven't 
heard." 

"  Oh ! "  returned  Alick,  "  Ian  Veg  wanted  to 
know  if  Donald  would  be  ready  for  this  day  week, 
because  he  wanted  to  send  word  to  the  neigh- 
bours." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  laird  grimly ;  "  you're  just  run- 
ning over  with  information.  What  said  Donald  to  the 
business  ?  " 

"  He  said,  sir,  he  didn't  care " 

Alick  pulled  up  suddenly,  profanity  to  the  laird 
being  straitly  forbidden. 

"  Out  with  it,"  said  the  laird.  "  He  said  he  didn't 
care " 

"  Well,  sir,  he  wasn't  very  well  pleased,  and  he  told 
me  to  tell  Ian  Veg  he  didn't  care — the  curse  of  a 
tinkler's  cuddy  when  it  was." 

"  Solitude  is  making  Donald  poetic.  We'll  have 
to  ask  him  the  precise  worth  and  potency  of  the  curse 
of  a  tinkler's  cuddy,  Alick.  As  I  understand,  then,  the 
gathering  is  arranged  for  this  day  week  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Umph !  Well,  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  tell- 
ing me.  You  can  be  stepping  down  by  and  say  to  Ian 
Veg  that  I  hope  to  be  back  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or 
so,  and  that,  if  it  suits  his  convenience,  I'd  like  a  word 
with  him.  And  hark  you,  Alick,  I  have  the  most  won- 
derful shears  you  ever  saw — for  clipping  long  tongues. 

86 


TREASON 

If  we're  to  continue  friends,  not  a  word  to  anybody 
about  all  this.  You  understand  ?  " 

Alick  grinned.  Oh,  yes,  he  understood — perfectly ; 
and  the  laird  should  see  what  a  bridle  he  could  put 
on  his  tongue. 

Reaching  home  presently,  he  remarked  casually  to 
Ian,  "  The  laird  will  be  down  by  in  a  little  while,  and 
would  like  a  word  with  you." 

"  Who  told  you  that  ? "  demanded  Ian,  sensibly 
touched  to  resentment. 

"  Oh,  a  man  who  knows,  just  himself,"  answered 
Alick,  as  if  he  and  the  laird  were  daily  in  the  habit  of 
talking  things  over  and  exchanging  views. 

"  Just  himself,"  repeated  Ian.  "  So  you  and  the 
laird  danders  round  confabin'  and  collogin'  just  like 
twenty-year-old  cronies.  Man,  it's  a  wonder,  Alick 
Ruah,  that  you  will  dirty  yer  tongue  speakin'  to  com- 
mon folk  after  that.  As  he  tells  you  everthing,  what 
does  he  want  with  me?" 

"  You'll  know  soon  enough,"  returned  Alick,  dis- 
creetly moving  beyond  range ;  and  he  looked  so  know- 
ing, and  at  the  same  time  so  saucily  provoking,  that 
Ian  was  torn  between  a  desire  to  be  gracious  in  order 
to  get  news  and  to  make  an  example  of  him  for  his 
impudence. 

Within  an  hour  Ian  was  summoned  to  the  little 
back  room,  where  he  found  the  laird  alone,  with  a  pipe 
in  full  blast.  Ian  expected  a  storm  and  found  the  most 
genial  sunshine. 

"  Ian,"  said  the  laird,  as  if  he  had  never  been 
ruffled  in  his  life,  "  I've  been  thinking  about  the  gath- 
ering. It's  about  time,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  it's  time,"  answered  Ian,  with  remark- 
able alacrity. 

The  laird  ran  over  his  engagements,  his  face  puck- 
87 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


ering  in  perplexity.  He  was  dreadfully  pressed;  it 
was  simply  intolerable  what  a  poor  man  had  to  do. 

"  There's  all  that,  and  more,  Ian,"  he  said  hope- 
lessly, naming  some  of  the  matters  that  pressed  most 
urgently.  "  We  must  make  a  push,  that's  all,"  he 
added,  like  one  prepared  to  sit  up  o'  nights,  if  need  be. 
"  I  think  we'll  manage  for  this  day  fortnight." 

Something  clicked  in  lan's  throat. 

"  Send  up  and  let  Donald  know,"  continued  the 
laird,  "  and  see  to  all  the  other  necessary  arrange- 
ments." 

Ian  shuffled  as  in  pain. 

"  I  wass  thinking,  sir,  maybe  it  would  be  better  to 
have  it  a  little  sooner,"  he  ventured,  his  throat  sud- 
denly parched.  He  ran  over  his  reasons,  the  laird 
listening  gravely  and  with  an  evident  desire  to  assent. 
But  he  shook  his  head  as  one  who  is  sorrowfully  forced 
to  refuse. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  it  can't  be  done,  Ian.  We'll  have 
the  gathering  this  day  fortnight.  Lay  your  plans  for 
that,  please." 

Divining  the  futility  of  argument,  Ian  went  forth 
with  a  drooping  head.  How  was  he  to  tell  the  captain  ? 

"  The  laird  was  right,"  he  thought,  in  bitter  self- 
accusation  ;  "  oh,  yes,  he  was  right.  There's  no  doot 
am  the  biggest  ass  in  Scotland." 

The  laird,  watching  from  his  window,  chuckled. 

"  Checkmated  this  time,  Ian  Veg  Mackern,"  he 
said  to  himself.  Then  all  at  once  his  face  hardened. 
"  They'll  be  deciding  for  me  next  which  side  of  the 
bed  I'm  to  get  out  at  in  the  morning.  Well,  we'll  see." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   DIPLOMATIC   BATTLE 

IAN  found  the  captain,  and,  with  a  fallen  face,  told 
his  tale.  Thereupon  the  captain  found  the  laird;  but 
neither  appeared  to  have  any  thought  of  the  sheep 
shearing.  As  two  persons  with  the  same  matter  burn- 
ing like  an  acid  at  their  hearts  assume  an  elaborate  in- 
difference to  its  existence,  till  suddenly,  as  at  a  chance 
prick  of  memory,  one  calls  out,  "  Oh,  by  the  way, 
that  reminds  me,"  or  "  Upon  my  word,  I  had  quite  for- 
gotten," so  these  two,  sitting  down  affectionately  to 
outwit  each  other,  talked  of  things  "  from  China  to 
Peru  " — crops  and  weather,  contrasts  between  East 
and  West,  who  was  married,  who  dead,  and  who  in 
prison,  but  never  a  word  of  the  real  subject  of  their 
thoughts,  till  a  casual  reference  to  sheep  suggested 
shearing.  Then  Norman  was  reminded  how  he  had 
looked  fonvard  to  the  great  summer  event,  how  on 
frizzling  stations  in  India  he  had  in  fancy  inhaled  the 
scents  of  windy  moors  and  heard  enraptured  the  music 
of  bleating  and  barking,  of  the  clicking  of  shears,  and 
the  laughter  of  shearers.  The  laird  listened,  his  eye 
twinkling  curiously. 

"Ay,"  he  remarked,  "all  that's  doubtless  fine  to 
dream  of  when  you  are  far  away.  But  I  never  sus- 
pected you  had  so  much  poetry  in  you,  Norman.  Per- 
haps it's  true  what  I  once  heard,  that  every  Highlander 
7  89 


A   SON   OF  GAD 


is  at  heart  a  poacher,  a  smuggler,  a  lover,  and  a  poet. 
Have  you  ever  tried  to  jingle  on  your  own  account?  " 

"  No,  sir,  never." 

"  It's  best  so,"  rejoined  the  laird.  "  Though  King 
David  and  some  others  thought  it  worth  their  while  to 
twang  the  lyre,  as  the  thing  is  called,  it's  my  conviction 
that  little  good  ever  came  of  the  poet's  trade.  Only 
the  other  day  I  read,  in  a  breach  of  promise  case, 
that  the  fellow's  cleverness  in  rhyming  cost  him  five 
hundred  pounds,  besides  law  expenses.  But  to  come 
back,  it's  very  odd  I  should  have  been  talking  to  "Ian 
Veg  about  the  clipping  not  an  hour  ago.  You  won't 
have  too  long  to  wait;  we've  arranged  for  this  day 
fortnight." 

No  man  who  has  been  twelve  years  in  the  army 
and  most  of  his  time  in  India  would  dream  of  making 
a  wry  face  over  a  blasted  hope  unless  it  had  involved 
the  chance  of  a  fight.  Norman  looked  steadily  at  his 
father  for  a  moment,  then  placidly  smote  the  ash  from 
his  cigar. 

"  This  day  fortnight,"  he  repeated,  as  if  taking  a 
mental  note  of  the  date. 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  can  be  managed  by  that  time," 
said  the  laird ;  "  at  any  rate,  I  am  pushing.  The 
weather  seems  likely  to  hold,  and  I  trust  you  won't  be 
disappointed  in  your  dream  of  a  good  clipping." 

Norman  gazed  into  his  own  smoke,  thinking  of  the 
animated  face  of  Miss  Ogilvie ;  for  it  happened  that 
he  had  invited  her  to  the  clipping  for  that  day  week, 
and  she  had  responded  with  a  gleeful  acceptance.  He 
acted  from  the  spur  of  rivalry,  which  often  drives  sen- 
sible men  into  folly.  Rollo  Linnie  suggested  a  party, 
ostensibly  for  angling  and  a  picnic,  in  reality,  as  the 
astute  Norman  discerned,  to  exhibit  his  own  familiar 
footing  with  the  heiress  who  was  the  talk  of  the  county. 

90 


A  DIPLOMATIC  BATTLE 

But  in  the  midst  of  the  arrangements  for  ascending  a 
tributary  of  the  Veagle  Mrs.  Ogilvie  called  out, 
"  That's  by  Craigenard  sheep  folds,"  and  instantly,  as 
if  inspired  by  the  imp  of  the  perverse,  Connie  whipped 
aside  on  the  cue. 

"  Oh,  Captain  MacLean ! "  she  cried,  "  I  have 
heard  so  much  of  the  romance  of  sheep-shearing.  You 
are  a  Highlander.  Will  you  tell  me  about  it  ?  " 

The  instant  answer  was,  "  Will  you  come  to  see  it, 
Miss  Ogilvie  ?  "  And  despite  the  wet  blanket  prompt- 
ly cast  upon  the  scheme  by  Rollo,  the  invitation  was 
as  instantly  accepted. 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  certainly  ought  to  go,"  put  in 
Mrs.  Ogilvie  by  way  of  confirmation.  "  This  world 
has  not  many  better  things  than  a  Highland  sheep- 
shearing  under  a  blue  sky." 

It  was  a  favourite  topic  of  hers.  Indeed,  her  chief 
joy  in  the  grandeur  of  old  age  was  to  transport  Connie 
from  the  dazzle  and  magnificence  of  Fifth  Avenue  to 
remote  hills  and  glens  mystically  purple  with  heather, 
mystically  yellow  with  broom,  and  invested  with  a 
thousand  sacred  memories  of  happiness  and  grief,  of 
triumph  and  defeat,  of  love  and  death.  And  Connie, 
who  had  the  American  girl's  eager,  sensitive  intelli- 
gence superadded  to  the  Scottish  glow  of  imagination, 
revelled  in  those  tales  of  humble,  romantic  lives  and 
wild  hillsides.  So  that  when  Norman's  invitation 
came,  seconded  by  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  her  heart  leaped  out 
responsive  as  at  the  touch  of  ancestral  things. 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  soon,"  she  said  rapturously,  when 
she  had  thanked  Norman. 

"  You  see  the  impatience  of  the  American  girl,  Cap- 
tain MacLean,"  laughed  Mr.  Ogilvie.  "  If  she's  go- 
ing a  trip  to  the  moon  she  must  travel  by  lightning 
express." 

91 


A  SON  OP  GAD 


"  Thanks,  papa  dear,  for  the  inheritance,"  retorted 
Connie,  with  a  filial  duck.  "  The  American  girl  is — 
what  shall  I  say?  A  limited  edition  of  the  American 
father,  specially  bound." 

"  An  edition  de  luxe"  murmured  Norman. 

She  turned  on  him  a  radiant  look,  and  noted,  not 
without  surprise,  the  crimson  suffusing  the  Indian  tan 
on  his  cheek. 

"  That's  very  pretty,  Captain  MacLean,"  she  re- 
sponded, an  expression  in  her  eyes  that  smote  to  the 
heart  of  Rollo.  "  Papa  talks  of  impatience.  If  he  got 
his  way  he'd  have  us  all  travelling  by  electricity  at  a 
minimum  rate  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  an  hour, 
and  he  thinks  he'll  manage  it  yet — in  America.  The 
British  people  are  still,  I  understand,  muddling  over 
the  alphabet  of  the  science  of  locomotion.  And  I  must 
say  that  beside  our  palace  cars  their  stuffy  wooden 
boxes  are — are  dreadfully  trying." 

It  was  odd  to  find  this  lovely  blossom  of  woman- 
kind striking  thus  into  the  dust  of  industrial  highways. 
It  may  be  doubted  whether  Norman  had  much  atten- 
tion for  the  criticism,  but  there  was  no  question  of  the 
enchantment  of  the  critic,  who,  as  it  seemed,  could 
invest  logarithms  with  a  heart,  and  endue  the  integral 
calculus  with  sentiment.  It  was  strange,  sweetly 
strange,  to  one  bred  in  British  proprieties,  which  make 
woman  either  a  drudge  or  a  doll,  to  find  a  masculine 
sense  and  knowledge  of  affairs  flowing  from  that  soft 
mouth,  a  mouth  so  piquantly  rich,  so  delicately 
moulded,  that  in  very  truth  it  reminded  him  of  the 
poet's  rosebud  in  the  first  flush  of  bloom.  Honey  and 
song  were  better  suited  to  those  lips,  but  then  eco- 
nomics became  honey  and  song  in  passing  them. 

All  the  while  Rollo  watched  as  one  watches  a  vic- 
torious rival  and  enemy  beating  down  with  ridiculous 

92 


A  DIPLOMATIC  BATTLE 

ease  the  outworks  of  one's  chosen  fortress.  What  in- 
fernal caprice  was  this?  Nay,  it  was  worse  than 
caprice,  it  was  deliberate  rudeness.  "  Clipping,"  said 
Rollo  to  himself  in  the  bitterness  of  resentment.  "  Ay, 
it'll  be  a  bonnie  sight  to  see  the  last  hope  of  the  Mac- 
Leans  snipping  at  dirty  sheeptails  like  the  rest  of  the 
beggarly  clan." 

Rollo  was  petulant  over  his  first  reverse,  and  also 
vindictive,  for  his  instinct  was  to  crush  the  penniless 
interloper  on  the  spot  and,  figuratively  speaking,  cast 
him  out  to  the  ravens.  Norman  had  no  eye  for  this 
new  enmity,  nor  indeed  would  he  have  troubled  about 
it  had  he  had  a  year  to  note  and  con. 

For  he  was  under  the  spell,  not  of  the  millionaire's 
daughter  (there  his  blood  would  have  rebelled),  but  of 
the  lovely  girl  whose  charming  naturalness  made  him 
forget  her  riches,  whose  graciousness  and  vivacity  were 
at  once  magnet  and  tonic.  He  was  not  aware  that 
Connie's  heart  swelled  gently  in  pity  for  the  disin- 
herited. Had  he  guessed  that  he  would  have  flung  out, 
hugging  his  fatuous  Highland  pride  like  a  thorn  to  his 
breast. 

She  heard  the  story  of  the  MacLeans  of  Dunveagte 
with  glowing  sympathy,  and  the  indignant  comment, 
"  What  a  shame !  "  Later,  in  that  evening  hour  when 
tender  sentiments  steal  unaware  into  the  heart,  she 
sat  at  her  window,  cheek  in  hand,  musing.  Even  into 
this  quiet  spot  the  tragic  ironies  of  life  penetrated,  and 
she  was  concerned  in  them,  in  a  sense  was  at  the  core 
of  them,  not  as  victim,  but  more  or  less  as  cause.  Sigh- 
ing unconsciously,  she  lifted  her  eyes  upon  the 
darkling  woods ;  thence  they  rose  slowly  to  the  craggy 
uplands  ablaze  with  rtiddy  gold.  All  that  had  once 
been  his.  How  hard,  how  monstrously  unfair  were 
some  of  the  methods  of  fortune ! 

93 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


The  feeling  made  her  delicately  considerate  in  her 
bearing  towards  Norman.  Besides,  she  confessed  to 
herself  privily,  he  was  very  handsome  and  courteous 
and  manly,  and  took  disaster  without  either  venom  or 
repining.  "  That's  grit,"  she  told  herself,  falling  back 
on  the  racy  western  vernacular,  and  of  all  qualities  in 
man  she  admired  grit  most.  Then  Rollo's  gallantries 
were  becoming  tedious,  and  beyond  doubt  beginning 
to  savour  of  presumption.  At  that  thought  the  red 
lips  compressed  themselves  dangerously.  Mr.  Rollo 
Linnie  had  better  be  careful  lest  he  found  himself  car- 
rying too  much  sail  for  his  ballast.  They  were  com- 
ing who  might  shock  him  rudely,  and  meanwhile  there 
was  Captain  MacLean  with  his  dark,  stirring  history, 
his  fine  face,  and  manly  ways. 

Rollo  left  Dunveagle  chagrined,  though  not  daring 
to  show  temper.  Like  most  of  his  race,  he  could  en- 
dure slight,  ay,  even  insult  and  contumely,  if  such 
endurance  were  politic.  Moreover,  in  pursuing  his 
game  he  had  a  patience  that  was  more  than  Christian. 

"  So,"  he  said  to  Miss  Ogilvie,  with  affected  blithe- 
ness,  "  you  are  going  sheep-shearing  instead  of 
angling?" 

"  Sheep-shearing  instead  of  angling,  thank  you, 
Mr.  Linnie,"  she  returned,  with  a  smile  that  was  as 
gall. 

The  sentence,  which  sent  Rollo  away  inwardly 
fuming,  committed  Norman  to  unsuspected  trouble. 

The  laird,  too,  in  his  own  fashion,  had  felt  the  in- 
fluence of  the  angelic,  that  is  to  say,  had  looked  with 
a  momentary  admiration  into  the  expressive  face  un- 
der the  golden  arch  of  hair,  thought  it  wonderfully 
good  for  an  Ogilvie,  and  dismissed  it  from  his  mind. 
Norman  was  unable  to  act  so  decisively,  because  by 
no  possibility  can  one-and-thirty  think  with  the  head, 

94 


A  DIPLOMATIC  BATTLE 


or  see  with  the  eyes,  or  feel  with  the  heart  of  three- 
score-and-ten.  The  problem,  therefore,  was  to  make 
threescore-and-ten  think  with  the  head,  and  see  with 
the  eyes,  and  feel  with  the  heart  of  one-and-thirty. 
How  was  it  to  be  done? 

The  proselytiser  began  afar  off,  as  if  the  Ogilvies 
and  sheep-shearing  were,  of  all  subjects  in  the  world, 
farthest  from  his  thoughts,  drew  in  gingerly,  dropped 
a  hint,  and  scurried  away  as  from  a  match  inadvertently 
dropped  into  a  powder  magazine.  Circling  back,  he 
ventured  closer,  and  ever  a  little  closer,  like  a  bird 
that  scents  provender,  but  is  afraid  of  a  trap.  Then, 
coming  yet  nearer,  he  attacked  his  problem  like  a 
desperate  mathematician,  taking  it  this  way  and  that, 
inverting  it,  turning  it  round,  but  getting  neither  open- 
ing nor  shadow  of  a  cue.  For  the  laird,  laughing  here 
and  blindly  misunderstanding  there,  exhibited  an  ob- 
tuseness  and  frivolity  sufficient  to  drive  any  schemer 
frantic. 

Now  a  great  man,  whose  cunning  gave  him  control 
of  the  councils  of  Europe,  has  said,  "  In  a  diplomatic 
contest,  if  you  want  to  win,  tell  the  truth.  Any  fool 
can  bungle  with  prevarication  and  circumlocution. 
Naked  truth  is  for  experts,  and  in  their  hands  is  dead- 
lier than  the  best  devised  falsehood." 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour's  futile  skirmishing  Nor- 
man blundered  upon  Bismarck's  simple  plan.  When 
the  card,  so  carefully  hidden  up  the  sleeve,  at  last  came 
out,  the  laird  drew  up,  frowningly. 

"  So,  then,  all  this  is  for  the  pleasure  of  an  Ogilvie," 
he  said  severely. 

"  Rather,  sir,  for  the  honour  of  a  MacLean,"  an- 
swered Norman. 

"  How's  that  ?— how's  that  ?  "  demanded  his  father 
brusquely.  Then,  with  the  convincing  simplicity  of  a 

95 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


child,  Norman  described  the  little  bout  of  rivalry  at 
Dunveagle. 

"  I  was,  perhaps,  presuming  a  little  on  the  precedent 
set  by  yourself,"  he  explained.  "  Old  and  young,  the 
Ogilvies  sang  your  praises  for  your  kindness  when 
they  visited  you.  Upon  my  word,  sir,  it  did  my  heart 
good  to  hear  them.  With  a  sneer  that  nearly  brought 
the  back  of  my  hand  slap  into  his  false  face,  Linnie 
made  some  remark.  Then — you  know  how  unac- 
countably such  things  happen — there  arose  a  sort  of 
contest  before  we  knew  what  we  were  about.  I  won ; 
that's  all.  And  now,  sir,"  he  ended,  with  the  conscious 
assurance  of  virtue,  "  I  transfer  the  matter  to  your 
hands." 

"  Oh  Lord,  keep  it  to  yourself,"  cried  the  laird, 
fidgeting  on  his  seat.  "  Keep  it  to  yourself ;  I  have  no 
taste  for  trokings  of  the  kind.  Besides,  I  have  ar- 
ranged the  clipping  for  this  day  fortnight." 

"  Shall  I  express  your  regrets,  then,  and  say  the 
engagement  for  this  day  week  is  off  ?  "  asked  Norman 
calmly. 

"  My  regrets !  "  retorted  his  father.  "  I  have  no 
regrets  at  all  in  the  matter.  Express  your  own  regrets 
if  you  have  any.  I  am  minding  my  own  business  in 
my  own  way,  and  I  can't  pretend  to  be  sorry  if  my 
arrangements  don't  give  entire  and  universal  satisfac- 
tion. I  have  no  call  to  be  so  nice." 

"  Very  well,  father,"  said  Norman,  with  a  filial 
meekness  which  sorely  belied  the  tumult  within ;  "  I'll 
say  that  the  gathering  is  not,  after  all,  to  take  place  on 
this  day  week,  giving  such  reasons  as  may  seem  fit." 

"  Reasons !  "  repeated  the  laird.  "  Why  should  we 
give  reasons?  Who  is  entitled  to  reasons?  Is  it  not 
reason  enough  that  I  have  decided  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  it  is,  sir,"  responded  Norman,  ris- 
96 


A  DIPLOMATIC  BATTLE 

ing  as  if  to  go.  "  I  daresay  Rollo  Linnie  will  be  glad 
my  project  has  miscarried." 

"  Stay  a  moment,"  said  the  laird,  in  a  changed  tone. 
"  Stay  a  moment.  Am  I  to  understand  you  arranged 
the  gathering  for  this  day  week,  not  so  much  to  please 
an  Ogilvie  as  to  spite  a  Linnie  ?  " 

Norman  owned  he  guessed  correctly.  The  laird's 
face  darkened. 

"  In  the  hour  of  trouble,"  he  said,  with  hard,  drawn 
lips,  "  I  appealed  to  Linnie,  and  he  turned  his  back  on 
me.  More  than  that,  he  was  in  league,  as  I  afterwards 
found  out,  with  those  who  were  ruining  me.  When 
there's  a  striving  between  a  MacLean  and  a  Linnie  I 
know  my  duty.  You  assure  me  you  planned  the  clip- 
ping to  baffle  Linnie,  not  for  love  of  the  Ogilvies." 

"  I  have  told  you,  sir,  exactly  how  it  was,"  an- 
swered Norman,  tingling  in  expectation. 

"  Then,"  cried  the  laird,  "  it  shall  be  as  you  have 
arranged.  Alick  Ruah,"  he  called,  spying  lan's  lieu- 
tenant, "  tell  Ian  Veg  I  want  him,  and  let  me  see  you 
putting  your  laziest  foot  first." 


97 


CHAPTER   XIV 

AN    EXCHANGE   OF   CIVILITIES 

NORMAN  went  forth  from  his  father's  presence  with 
a  smothered  sense  of  iniquity  and  a  vivid  feeling  of 
elation.  That  he  owed  his  victory  to  Linnie  was  plain 
as  the  sun  in  the  heavens;  for  if  his  father  did  not 
loathe  the  sublime  Rollo  with  a  loathing  bitter  as  death 
there  certainly  should  be  no  clipping  on  that  day  week. 
With  philosophical  reflections  on  the  uses  of  an  enemy, 
Norman  lighted  a  cigar.  This  was  not  the  first  time 
that  a  foe  had  stood  him  in  good  stead.  He  owed  pro- 
motion and  the  D.S.O.  to  misguided  adversaries  who 
had  not  the  sense  to  accept  the  inevitable  quietly  and 
at  the  right  moment.  Well,  heaven  helps  those  who 
Lave  wit  enough  to  help  themselves. 

That  night  Captain  MacLean  lay  a  long  time 
awake,  dreaming  delectably.  Eight  years  before  he 
had  fled  from  the  distress  and  confusion  of  family  ruin ; 
he  came  back  in  doubt  and  hesitation  because  his  father 
wished  to  see  him  again  before  going  the  way  whence 
there  is  no  return.  He  expected  no  enjoyment,  and 
behold  this  delightful  surprise.  Was  Fate  beginning 
to  relent? 

Next  day  he  called  at  Dunveagle  to  learn  Miss 
Ogilvie's  pleasure  in  the  matter  of  arrangements,  and 
was  persuaded  to  stay  for  luncheon,  the  more  easily 
perhaps  that  Mr.  Rollo  Linnie  was  of  the  company; 

98 


AN  EXCHANGE  OF  CIVILITIES 

and  Mr.  Linnie's  thin  lips  grew  yet  thinner  in  a  grin  of 
pain  as  the  plans  were  laid.  The  clipping  itself,  Nor- 
man explained,  promised  little  in  the  way  of  adven- 
ture ;  perhaps  Miss  Ogilvie  would  like  to  see  some- 
thing of  the  gathering  as  well.  She  responded  with  a 
smile,  for  which  Rollo  would  have  risked  his  salvation. 

"  Captain  MacLean,"  she  said,  "  will  you  take 
charge  of  me  ?  "  A  sudden  vertigo  came  upon  Rollo, 
the  effect  of  which  was  to  make  him  grin  inanely. 
...  "  Connie,  Connie,"  put  in  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  "  you  must 
not  impose  on  Captain  MacLean.  What  do  you  know 
of  hill  climbing?" 

Whereupon  Captain  MacLean  with  a  good  deal 
less  than  his  usual  coolness  replied  that  Miss  Ogilvie 
was  in  no  sense  whatever  guilty  of  imposition,  and  that 
he,  Captain  MacLean,  considered  it  an  honour,  as  it 
certainly  was  a  felicity,  to  be  entrusted  with  such  a 
charge.  At  that  moment  an  unearthly  cackle  came 
from  Rollo ;  his  face  was  ashy  grey,  like  the  face  of 
one  mortally  smitten,  and,  indeed,  incredible  things 
were  happening  in  this  farce  of  the  beggar  and  the 
queen.  The  insolence  of  the  beggar  any  fool  could 
understand;  but,  in  heaven's  name,  what  was  the 
queen  thinking  of?  Was  she  in  jest  or  in  earnest? 
The  question  was  soon  answered. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  happiness  in  every  feature  of  her 
face,  "  I  should  dearly  like  to  see  a  gathering.  Grannie 
has  told  me  so  much  about  these  things.  Would  it  be 
too  much  trouble  to  arrange  for  me,  Captain  Mac- 
Lean?" 

Mrs.  Ogilvie,  chancing  to  glance  at  Rollo  just  then, 
was  moved  to  express  a  fear  he  was  not  enjoying  his 
luncheon.  He  looked  up  with  a  ghastly  simper  on  his 
grey  face.  Upon  his  honour  he  never  enjoyed  any- 
thing more,  and  nearly  choked  on  the  assurance.  As  if 

99 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


to  add  to  his  torture,  Miss  Ogilvie  struck  in  mis- 
chievously. 

"  Do  you  care  for  clippings  and  gatherings,  Mr. 
Linnie  ?  "  she  asked,  her  eyes  bright  with  mockery. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  cared ;  in  fact  he  was  passionately 
fond  of  them.  Most  romantic — he,  he — liked  sheep  all 
his  life ;  had  once — he,  he — been  nearly  drowned  by 
falling  head  foremost  into  a  tub  of  sheep-dip.  Took 
a  drink  before  he  could  help  it.  Beastly.  A  shepherd 
held  him  up  by  the  heels  and  let  the  stuff  run  out. 
Ha,  ha." 

Evincing  a  pretty  interest,  Miss  Ogilvie  asked  if  he 
had  had  many  such  experiences.  Oh,  bless  her  heart, 
lots !  And  he  told  of  dog-fights,  cat-fights,  goat-fights, 
boy-fights,  and  other  events  likely  to  thrill  the  heart. 
Thus  he  was  led  on,  hot,  flustered,  floundering,  and 
fearfully  unhappy. 

He  cooled  into  haughty,  icy  reserve  going  down 
the  long  avenue  with  Norman  after  luncheon.  They 
walked  in  silence  till  they  reached  the  great  gate ;  then 
Rollo's  resentment  boiled  over  in  a  sarcastic  remark 
on  the  joys  of  sheep-shearing.  The  winning  man  can 
afford  to  be  genial,  and  Norman  took  the  reference 
pleasantly. 

"  Since  you  are  interested,"  he  said,  "  you  may  hon- 
our us  by  being  one  of  the  party  ?  " 

As  he  expected,  this  increased  the  overflow  of  bile. 
"  Never  mind,"  he  thought ;  "  the  anger  of  the  pot 
never  gets  beyond  the  ashes." 

"  Thanks,"  returned  Rollo,  flinging  his  nose  in  the 
air,  "  but  I  never  put  my  spoon  in  another  man's 
kail." 

"  The  habit  that  Neil  had  he  always  stuck  to,"  re- 
joined Norman  urbanely.  "  You'll  have  heard  of  Mac- 
killop's  invitation  ?  " 

100 


AN  EXCHANGE  OF  CIVILITIES 

"What  was  it?"  demanded  Rollo. 

"  Oh,  just  take  or  leave !  "  was  the  response. 

"  Mackillop,"  said  the  tingling  Rollo,  "  was  one  of 
the  gentlemen  who  were  from  home  when  good  man- 
ners were  dealt  out." 

"  Maybe  like  Saul,  the  son  of  Kish,  he  was  out 
looking  for  his  father's  asses,"  rejoined  Norman,  with 
exasperating  composure.  "  Or  possibly  knowing  the 
qualifications  of  those  who  dealt  out  manners,  he  kept 
out  of  the  way." 

"  I  warn  you,  I'm  not  in  love  with  insinuation,  Cap- 
tain MacLean,"  cried  Rollo,  his  lip  quivering. 

"  '  What  a  man  sows  that  shall  he  reap,'  as  the  silly 
woman  said  when  she  sowed  oatmeal,"  retorted  Nor- 
man. 

The  muscles  of  Rollo's  face  twitched  in  rage. 

"  I  warn  you  again  that  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of 
taking  insults  lightly,"  he  hissed. 

"  Nor  I  of  giving  them,"  replied  Norman  indiffer- 
ently. "  And  on  your  present  warning,  for  which  I 
am  obliged,  I  have  only  to  remark  it's  a  pity  the 
big-nosed  man  should  take  all  references  to  noses 
to  himself.  But  here  we  are  on  the  highway,  Mr. 
Linnie,  which,  I  fancy,  is  wide  enough  for  two. 
Suppose  we  try  the  plan  of  each  going  his  own 
way  ?  " 

"  And  much  sorrow  at  the  parting,  I'm  sure," 
snorted  Rollo. 

"  With  a  company  of  two  and  both  of  one  mind 
there's  nothing  for  it  but  agreement,"  returned  Nor- 
man. And  with  a  smile  that  was  as  the  thrust  of  a  dirk, 
he  was  through  a  wicket  and  knee-deep  in  bracken — 
a  trespasser  in  Dunveagle  Woods. 

Rollo  watched  with  drumming  arteries  as  long  as 
the  retreating  figure  was  visible.  "  Damn  you,"  he 

101 


A  SON   OF  GAD 


muttered,  his  fingers  clinching  as  on  the  other's  throat. 
"  Curse  the  whole  beggarly,  long-shanked  breed  of 
you.  See  if  I  don't  make  you  smart  for  your  inso- 
lence." 

Meanwhile  Norman  swung  on  with  an  easy  stride, 
smiling  half  in  pity,  half  in  contempt. 

"  I  believe  he  was  on  the  verge  of  a  chal- 
lenge," he  told  himself.  "  Poor  fool !  Three  minutes 
would  satisfy  all  concerned,  if  the  game  were  worth  the 
candle." 

How  could  Mr.  Linnie  know  that  as  a  swordsman 
Captain  MacLean  was  the  pride  of  the  Indian  army, 
and  had  even  disarmed  the  boast  of  the  Paris  fencing 
ring?  Ignorance  is  sometimes  at  once  a  bliss  and  a 
blessing. 

The  arrangements  for  the  sheep-shearing  involved 
an  incredible  number  of  interviews  with  the  Ogilvies, 
most  of  them  long.  Throughout  the  ladies  were  in  a 
simmer  of  enthusiasm ;  but  Mr.  Ogilvie,  as  was  his 
wont,  watched,  withholding  comment  until  all  was 
ready.  Then,  being  alone  with  his  daughter,  he  re- 
marked between  puffs  of  cigar  smoke — 

"  Con,  I  like  your  friend  Captain  MacLean.  He's 
go't  his  head  on  in  the  right  way — and  he  needs  it,  for 
I  can  see  he  plays  a  hard  part." 

Connie  smiled,  not  without  a  dainty  suspicion  of 
colour. 

"  Yes,  I  like  him.  But  your  other  friend  Mr.  Lin- 
nie hates  him  like  poison.  You'd  better  look  out.  I 
want  no  blood  spilt  on  my  doorstep." 

"  I  think,"  she  returned,  her  smile  suddenly  hard- 
ened into  a  frown,  "  I  think  Mr.  Linnie  is  one  of  the 
enterprising  gentlemen  who,  given  an  inch,  proceed  to 
help  themselves  to  an  ell.  At  times  he  acts  as  if  he 

102 


AN  EXCHANGE  OP  CIVILITIES 

thought  he  had  a  sort  of  right  of  pre-emption.  And  I 
can  see  he  treats  Captain  MacLean  with  studied  rude- 
ness." 

Her  father  looked  hard  at  her. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  daresay  Captain  MacLean 
knows  how  to  take  care  of  himself.  As  to  notions  of 
pre-emptions,  nothing  pre-emptive  is  admitted  here. 
You  understand  ?  " 

She  answered  in  the  affirmative,  remarking  at  the 
same  time  that  she  could  not  help  pitying  the  Mac- 
Leans,  their  lot  was  so  hard. 

"  I  don't  know,"  responded  her  father,  "  that  we 
owe  the  MacLeans  much  pity.  There  was  a  time 
when  their  pity  did  not  extend  to  us.  Not,"  he  ex- 
plained, "  that  I  believe  in  raking  up  the  past.  A 
busy  man  has  better  employment  than  auditing  ac- 
counts of  old  dead  wrongs.  But  in  fondling  the 
cub,  one  can't  help  remembering  how  the  old  wolf 
bit." 

"  Mr.  MacLean  was  very  good  when  we  called  at 
Craigenard,"  Connie  pointed  out.  "  You  know  Gran- 
nie was  charmed  and  touched." 

"  Grannie  was  holding  converse  with  ghosts,  dear. 
But  for  her  we  should  not  have  set  foot  in  Craigenard. 
When  you  are  old  you'll  perhaps  understand  her  feel- 
ings. I  readily  grant,  however,  that  MacLean  was  ex- 
ceedingly gracious,  and  graciousness  must  have  been 
difficult,  considering  who  is  at  Dunveagle.  But  the 
fact  is  MacLean  is  still  a  gentleman.  At  the  same  time 
you  might  find  yourself  mistaken  if  you  construed  his 
civility  as  good-will." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  call  him  a  hypocrite  ?  "  she 
cried. 

"  No,  not  a  hypocrite,  only  a  Highlander,  possibly 
with  his  own  ideas  of  revenge." 

103 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


"  Revenge  ?  "  she  repeated  incredulously,  thinking 
of  Norman. 

"  In  spite  of  the  transcendentalisms  of  young  ladies' 
colleges,  I  am  afraid  the  natural  man  still  gloats  upon 
revenge,"  was  the  reply.  "  To  be  sure,  the  day  of  dirks 
and  broadswords  is  over.  Our  methods  are  more  re- 
fined and " 

"  Cruel,"  put  in  Connie,  who,  as  a  graduate  of  an 
American  college,  read  Emerson. 

"  Perhaps,"  remarked  her  father,  "  the  world  had 
more  real  conscience  and  tenderness  when  a  man  took 
the  person  he  hated  by  the  beard  and  smote  him  under 
the  fifth  rib  in  the  ancient  effective  way  than  it  has  to- 
day when  murder  is  both  a  crime  and  a  breach  of  good 
manners.  Being  a  plain  man,  I  won't  argue  about 
such  subtleties.  Only  I  want  to  say  that  a  gentleman, 
especially  a  Highland  gentleman,  does  not  necessarily 
cherish  an  affection  for  every  one  to  whom  he  is  civil. 
As  to  Captain  MacLean,  he  rings  genuine,  and  I  like 
his  straight  look.  In  a  deal  I'd  take  his  word  as  read- 
ily as  his  bond." 

"  And  what  of  Mr.  Linnie?  "  asked  Connie,  with  a 
little  thrill  of  curiosity. 

"  Ask  me  later  on,"  was  the  answer.  "  You  start  at 
four  in  the  morning,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Earlier,"  she  replied.    "  We  start  at  daybreak." 

"  Then,  if  it's  fine,  you'll  see  something  worth  re- 
membering all  your  life — a  Highland  dawn.  During 
the  last  twenty  years  I  have  seen  many  a  midnight,  but 
few  dawns.  I've  a  mind  to  go  out  also.  You  ride,  of 
course.  Who  goes  as  your  guide  ?  " 

"  Captain  MacLean  has  told  off  the  boy  Alick  for 
that  duty,  because  he  says  none  of  our  men  would  be 
of  any  use  among  the  heather." 

"  Well,  be  careful,"  said  her  father.  "  Be  careful. 
104 


AN  EXCHANGE  OF  CIVILITIES 

It  would  be  unpleasant  to  fall  over  a  precipice  or  stick 
in  a  bog." 

Thus  Dunveagle.  At  Craigenard  Ian  Veg  spoke 
darkly  with  Alick,  touching  the  happy  results  likely  to 
come  of  an  unforeseen  and  absolutely  unavoidable  ac- 
cident to  horse  and  rider. 


105 


CHAPTER  XV 

IAN  LEADS  INTERLOPERS  A  DANCE 

To  break  necks  innocently  two  things  are  needful 
— zeal  and  craft ;  and  the  greatest  of  these  is  craft,  since 
it  furnishes  occasion  for  the  deed.  Now,  Ian  Veg,  to 
his  sore  vexation,  could  count  on  neither.  Alick  had 
lately  come  under  the  spell  of  the  captain,  and  the  blind 
could  see  the  captain  was  under  the  evil  spell  of  the 
usurpers  at  Dunveagle.  Indeed,  Ian  had  an  acute  feel- 
ing that  his  master's  son,  on  whom  the  family  honour 
rested,  in  whom  the  family  hate  should  centre,  was  be- 
witched to  infatuation.  Alick  he  could  set  right  per- 
emptorily and  effectively  with  the  stick,  but  the  same 
summary  treatment  could  not  be  applied  to  Norman. 

It  was  to  be  expected,  of  course,  that  the  "  hussy 
Ogilvie  "  would  set  her  cap  for  lineage  and  good  looks. 
It  was  the  way  of  all  women ;  Ian  understood  it  was 
especially  the  way  of  American  women,  and  turning 
the  matter  over  in  his  mind,  he  made  use  of  language 
which  drew  on  him  the  sharp  reproof  of  Janet. 

"  Oh,  I'll  not  say  but  she's  well  enough  in  the  face," 
he  retorted  in  Gaelic,  "  but  she's  not  to  have  our  Nor- 
man like  a  poodle  on  a  string." 

"  There's  many  a  fine  man  would  like  to  be  her 
poodle,"  quoth  Janet  quietly. 

"  Shame  to  you,  Janet  Mackern,"  was  the  re- 
joinder. "  It's  thinking  I  am  you  don't  care  that  if  he 

106 


IAN  LEADS  INTERLOPERS  A  DANCE 

goes  after  her  or  not,"  and  he  snapped  his  fingers 
angrily. 

"  If  I  was  you,  I'd  say  my  prayers  for  a  pickle  sense, 
Ian  Veg,"  said  Janet,  with  provoking  calmness. 

"  It's  a  fine  day  when  the  fox  preaches,"  cried  Ian, 
and  bounced  away,  convinced  that  the  very  air  was 
treacherous. 

He  called  for  Alick,  with  a  vague  notion  of  begin- 
ning a  course  of  correction  on  the  spot,  but  was  balked, 
for  Alick  happened  to  be  receiving  final  instructions 
from  the  captain.  His  look  of  elation  made  Ian  com- 
ment mentally,  "  We'll  take  that  out  of  you,  my  lad." 

It  added  piquancy  to  the  situation  that  Ian  was 
himself  appointed  guide,  an  honour  conferred  upon 
him  because  he  knew  crag  and  chasm  and  peak  as  the 
faces  of  his  daily  friends.  No  one  thought  of  calling 
to  mind  that  he  also  knew  the  most  perilous  paths,  the 
deepest,  coziest  channels,  and  most  treacherous  bog 
holes,  nor  did  any  one  suspect  his  secret  satisfaction  in 
the  knowledge. 

While  the  moorlands  were  still  a  spectral,  chilly 
grey,  they  were  out ;  Ian  and  his  two  collies  leading, 
and  Connie  some  twenty  paces  behind  on  her  pony, 
with  Alick  alert  at  its  head  and  the  captain  attentive  by 
the  stirrup. 

The  rider  tingled  in  suppressed  excitement.  She 
had  imagined  a  lightsome  voyage  of  discovery,  and, 
lo!  an  uncanny  adventure  into  Dantesque  regions  of 
gloom.  In  her  fancy  mountains  had  always  stood 
laughing  in  sunshine  or  robed  in  the  majesty  of  tem- 
pest ;  never  in  this  darkling  weirdness  that  was  neither 
night  nor  day,  neither  sunshine  nor  mist.  Looming  in 
stupendous  vagueness,  they  reminded  her  of  bergs  un- 
veiling minatorily  in  the  path  of  a  fog-bound  ship.  The 
intervening  wastes,  glimmering  eerily  with  grey  heath 

107 


A   SON  OP  GAD 


and  ebony  bog,  suggested  unholy  revels,  so  that  she 
half  expected  to  have  her  blood  made  cold  by  the 
gleam  of  vanishing  phantoms  or  the  twinkle  of  a 
witch's  skirt.  Miss  Connie  had  never  before  looked  on 
the  face  of  the  moorland  when  it  reflects  the  first  faint 
silver  of  the  east,  nor  felt  the  mysterious  life  of  the  hills 
at  the  parting  of  light  and  darkness.  The  place  awed ; 
and  the  company  perhaps  embarrassed. 

For  the  sake  of  diversion  she  remarked  the  aloof- 
ness of  Ian,  who  strode  on  ahead,  silent  and  ostenta- 
tiously indifferent. 

"  He's  a  queer  fish,"  replied  Norman  in  a  low  voice  ; 
"  tender  as  a  dove,  hardy  as  a  wild  cat,  as  true  as  steel, 
and  as  cruel." 

"  A  hotch-potch  of  Celtic  vice  and  virtue,"  she 
smiled  down. 

"  And  both  highly  spiced,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Tell  me  about  him,"  she  said  coaxingly. 

Norman  glanced  ahead ;  the  way  was  tolerably  clear 
for  a  mile  or  so,  and  Ian  was  too  far  in  advance  to 
hear. 

"  There's  a  little  tale  that  is  characteristic  and  worth 
telling,"  he  said,  and  this  is  the  pith  of  what  he  told : 

Many  years  before  a  brace  of  cockney  tourists, 
chancing  to  be  out  among  the  hills  with  Ian,  recreated 
themselves  blithely  at  his  expense.  He  retorted  noth- 
ing ;  nay,  he  even  smiled  as  the  arrows  of  their  wit  went 
home.  The  diversion  was  so  rare,  they  scarcely  noticed 
he  was  leading  them  through  pitted  morasses,  up  and 
down  ugly  gorges,  and  by  the  brinks  of  dizzy  preci- 
pices. They  were  suddenly  amazed,  however,  when 
ten  miles  from  the  nearest  habitation  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  them  to  themselves,  having  urgent  business  else- 
where. It  was  then  well  on  towards  evening.  The  mist 
and  the  rain,  for  which  the  guileless  Ian  had  been  wait- 

108 


IAN  LEADS  INTEBLOPEBS  A  DANCE 

ing  and  praying,  came  drizzling  down,  blotting  out 
every  headland  and  landmark.  They  had  not  gone  half 
an  hour  in  their  own  courses  when,  with  the  sensation 
which  no  man  who  has  experienced  it  ever  forgets, 
they  discovered  that  they  had  absolutely  and  hope- 
lessly lost  their  way.  A  fearful  night  of  floundering  and 
scrambling  followed.  Towards  dawn  next  day,  two 
drenched,  miry,  hungry,  spent  men  came  upon  a  soli- 
tary cottage.  Heaven  be  praised,  here  was  succour  at 
last.  They  knocked  faintingly.  A  moment  later  a 
nightcapped  head  popped  out  above  them,  and,  behold 
— the  astonished  face  of  Ian.  He  was  struck  with  an 
exasperating  pity.  Bless  his  heart  and  soul,  where  had 
they  been?  He  thought  they  were  back  to  their 
mothers  long  ago.  The  wild,  dark,  wet  hills  were  no 
place  for  pretty  gentlemen  from  London.  He  was 
afraid  their  fine  new  clothes  were  ruined,  and  that 
was  a  great  pity,  for  as  he  knew  good  clothes  were 
dear.  All  the  same,  he  hoped  they  had  enjoyed  them- 
selves after  coming  so  far  for  pleasure.  Well,  he  was 
a  poor,  hard-working  man  who  had  to  rise  early,  and 
so  must  be  bidding  them  "  good  night."  It  was  so- 
ciable of  them  to  knock  him  up  in  the  passing,  and 
he  hoped  that  if  they  came  that  way  again  they  would 
not  forget  him.  With  that  the  head  withdrew,  and  the 
window  went  down,  not  without  hints  of  a  satirical 
chuckle. 

"  Delightful !  "  cried  Connie,  who  rejoiced  in  orig- 
inality, even  when  it  was  wicked.  "  He's  mastered  the 
art  of  tit-for-tat." 

Ian  heard  a  peal  of  frivolous  laughter,  but  did  not 
deign  to  look  back. 

An  hour  they  kept  to  the  primitive  road,  by  which 
the  glen  carted  home  its  peats,  but  the  guide,  consider- 
ing the  end  with  himself,  took  the  first  chance  of  strik- 

109 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


ing  out  among  pathless  bogs,  and,  for  the  sake  of  stum- 
bling feet  behind,  quickened  his  pace.  In  spite  of 
Alick's  utmost  vigilance,  the  pony  tripped  often  and 
sank,  causing  much  merriment  between  Miss  Ogilvie 
and  her  sedulous  knight,  the  captain.  It  was  great  fun, 
this  rough-riding,  and  an  adventure  to  describe  at 
length  in  letters  to  New  York. 

Ian  meanwhile,  glancing  furtively  over  his  shoul- 
der, cursed  the  nimble  feet  of  the  pony  and  the  traitor- 
ous skill  of  Alick.  A  cunning  touch  at  the  right  mo- 
ment, an  artfully  contrived  blunder,  and  the  baggage 
would  be  head  foremost  into  the  black  bog.  "  I'd  jist 
like  to  see  ye  over  the  head  in  it,"  he  thought  savagely. 
If  those  sucking  black  lips  once  got  hold ! 

He  led  them  straight  through  the  heart  of  the 
morass.  Once  it  had  been  part  of  the  great  Cale- 
donian forest,  and  the  mouldering  tree  stumps,  decep- 
tively wreathed,  were  still  effective  stumbling-blocks 
for  the  unwary.  But  what  Ian  put  most  faith  in  were 
the  slimy  holes  and  ditches,  altogether  hidden  or  grace- 
fully veiled  by  luxuriant  heather.  If  only  the  beast 
of  a  pony  would  make  a  real  slip;  if  only  Alick — but 
that  felonious  child  of  Belial  was  too  evidently  in 
league  with  the  enemy. 

The  truth  is  that  the  difficulties  so  carefully  devised 
by  Ian  put  Alick  on  his  mettle.  Only  the  born  hills- 
man  could  have  piloted  the  pony  from  tuft  to  tuft  of 
the  shivering  quagmire,  between  the  pools  of  liquid 
peat,  across  the  hidden  runnels  and  heather-fringed 
holes  that  gleamed  like  the  eye  of  a  beast  lurking  priv- 
ily for  prey.  Alick  saw  everything,  and  his  hand  was 
prompt  on  the  bridle  to  urge  or  retard.  Unhappily, 
however,  a  horse  has  four  feet,  and  while  Alick  looked 
to  the  pair  in  front  the  pony  went  down  behind,  or 
vice  versa,  so  that  it  was  like  a  boat  in  a  heavy  sea, 

no 


IAN  LEADS  INTERLOPERS  A  DANCE 

now  going  down  by  the  head,  now  by  the  stern.  More- 
over, the  farther  they  went  the  wilder  became  the 
plunging.  Alick,  mire  to  the  eyes,  was  dripping  from 
effort  and  excitement,  and  to  mire  the  captain  added  a 
very  obvious  anxiety.  Ian,  grimly  expectant,  hopped 
and  leaped  with  a  devilish  agility  in  front.  At  last  a 
quick  cry  came  from  behind.  Suspecting  a  false  alarm, 
he  did  not  turn  until  the  excited  voices  of  the  captain 
and  Alick  assured  him  of  an  accident.  What  he  saw 
on  facing  about  was  a  pony  embedded  to  the  nozzle, 
and  Miss  Ogilvie  in  the  captain's  arms.  The  captain 
was  saying  something  in  sharp  rebuke  to  Alick, 
and  Alick  turned  a  scarlet,  accusing  face  to  Ian.  Mr. 
Mackern  noted,  as  a  thing  not  wholly  unpleasing,  that, 
despite  all  her  gallant's  care,  Miss  Ogilvie  had  not  en- 
tirely escaped  the  slime.  "  But  I  wish,"  he  said  to  him- 
self as  he  stepped  back,  "  I  wish  she  was  where  the 
powny  is." 

Examination  showed  that  the  pony's  hill  climbing 
was  done  for  that  day,  and  that  Miss  Ogilvie's  wrist 
had  been  badly  twisted.  The  question  was  whether 
she  would  proceed  or  return.  She  felt  her  wrist, 
glanced  at  her  miry  skirt,  and  asked  how  far  they  had 
still  to  go. 

"A  matter  of  three  mile,  and  maybe  a  bittock," 
announced  Ian,  giving  his  imagination  rein,  and  added 
gratuitously.  "  The  worst  three  mile  in  all  the  hill, 
too." 

Connie  considered  a  moment.  Could  Alick  return 
with  the  pony,  and  would  they  bear  with  her  if  she 
went  on?  Bear  with  her?  The  captain  would  not 
abide  that  strain ;  and  Ian  suppressed  a  groan. 

"  We'll  be  late  at  the  mairch,"  he  said,  starting  with 
a  resolution  that  those  who  followed  should  sweat  for 
it.  After  five  hundred  yards  of  matted  heather  Connie 

in 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


was  glad  to  take  the  captain's  arm.  "  Oh,  that's  it,  is 
it?"  said  Ian  mentally,  casting  a  backward  glance. 
"  If  he's  going  to  carry  her  like  a  lame  sheep,  better 
begin  soon  than  syne,"  and  struck  up  an  acclivity 
where  only  hill-born  toes  could  grip. 


112 


CHAPTER   XVI 

TRIUMPH  AND   DISAPPOINTMENT 

CONNIE  reached  the  top  panting,  and  as  a  strata- 
gem to  recover  breath,  drew  lan's  attention  to  the 
glory  of  crimson  and  gold  now  flooding  the  east. 

"  Ay,"  he  responded,  hardly  taking  the  trouble  to 
glance  upward.  "  It  will  be  gey  and  hot  by  dinner- 
time," and  turned  on  his  heel.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  follow  him,  and  the  following  was  not  easy. 
Sometimes  on  a  slippery  steep  Connie  fairly  swung  on 
the  captain's  arm,  in  a  confusion  that  lent  brilliancy  to 
eye  and  cheek.  Once  he  felt  the  dancing  tumult  of  her 
heart  against  his  own,  and  for  one  divine  moment 
experienced  the  giddy  ecstasy  of  a  doubting  soul  ad- 
mitted into  Paradise. 

She  climbed  bravely,  but  skirts  are  skirts,  and  a 
maid  is  a  maid,  and  matted  heather  and  slippery  hill- 
sides are  hard  to  tread.  Wherefore  there  was  closer 
clinging  than  one  intended  or  the  other  durst  expect. 
But  the  preoccupation  of  these  personal  concerns  did 
not  prevent  the  open-souled  American  girl  from  rejoic- 
ing in  the  exhilarating  freshness  and  the  oriental  pomp 
of  colour,  here  silver-grey,  there  gold,  and  yonder  a 
burning  crimson,  with  ineffable  tints  of  pearl  and  opal 
between.  A  spirit  lighter  and  subtler  than  wine  elec- 
trified heart  and  nerve. 

"  Glorious,"  she  cried,  "  glorious !  "  and  scrambled 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


upon  a  low  rock.  The  keen  breeze  of  dawn  made  her 
ears  tingle  pleasantly,  and  brought  the  bloom  of  Shiraz 
to  her  face.  The  blood  raced  in  her  veins,  every  pulse 
danced  exuberantly.  Throwing  back  her  head,  she 
took  a  deep  draught  of  the  light,  perfumed  air. 

"  And  half  these  hills,"  she  cried  in  self-forgetful 
ecstasy,  "  belong  to  Dunveagle." 

The  words  were  not  out  when  she  burned  with 
shame  for  her  cruelty  and  clumsiness.  Oh,  how  could 
she  have  forgotten  herself?  Looking  down  in  dismay, 
she  saw  the  quiver  of  pain  in  Norman's  face. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  quietly,  "  half  these  hills  be- 
long to  Dunveagle." 

"  Oh,  Captain  MacLean !  "  she  cried  in  a  tense 
voice. 

Then  all  at  once  she  stopped,  her  lips  compressed. 
The  next  instant  she  leaped  from  the  rock. 

"  Come,"  she  said  hurriedly,  "  or  Ian  will  be  wish- 
ing you  had  not  brought  me."  And  she  climbed  two 
hundred  yards  of  a  smooth,  steep  slope  without  help. 

They  were  beginning  to  look  down  on  the  brood- 
ing mists,  now  shimmering  in  the  sunlight  like  vast 
webs  of  gossamer,  interwoven  with  pearls  of  surpass- 
ing lustre.  Above  the  vermilion  was  fading  into  dim 
white,  and  Norman  agreed  with  Ian  in  predictions  of  a 
blazing  day. 

Two  thousand  five  hundred  feet  above  sea  level 
they  paused  again  to  take  breath,  Connie,  thanks  to 
Norman's  delicate  courtesy,  being  once  more  mistress 
of  herself.  But  they  had  not  admired  the  kindled  radi- 
ance more  than  a  minute,  when  there  came,  in  the 
inexorable  voice  of  Ian,  "  We'll  be  jogging." 

Without  waiting  for  response,  he  headed  for  the 
crest,  which  an  hour  before  had  seemed  but  a  short 
mile  away,  then  mysteriously  receded  to  treble  that 

114 


TRIUMPH  AND  DISAPPOINTMENT 

distance,  and  now  after  all  the  climbing  and  panting 
was  still  half  a  league  off. 

"  Distances  are  deceptive  among  the  mountains," 
Connie  remarked,  and  over  the  implacable  shoulder 
in  front  came  the  single  word  "  Whiles." 

But  at  last  with  the  captain's  aid  she  was  on  the 
top,  palpitating  and  giddy,  and,  lo !  a  glory  unutterable, 
a  glory  of  shining  moor  and  crag,  of  flashing  cataract 
and  flaming  peak,  such  as  her  town-bred  imagination 
had  never  conceived.  She  could  not  seize  details.  She 
had  merely  an  indelible  impression  of  innumerable 
domes,  a  dazzling  brightness,  and  an  unspeakable 
peace,  while  the  streams  and  the  wind  of  the  morning 
sang  enchantingly  in  her  ear. 

She  was  startled  by  a  voice  at  her  side,  and  turning 
quickly,  found  Ian  regarding  her  impatiently.  In 
some  confusion  she  asked  whether  he  had  spoken. 

"  I  was  just  saying  yonder's  the  mairch,"  he  an- 
nounced, indicating  a  stream  which  was  a  series  of 
cascades.  "  Ye  see,  a  burn's  the  cheapest  sort  of  a 
dyke  among  the  hills.  Listen.  Gosh!  Yon's  Don- 
ald's dogs." 

Thereupon  he  mounted  a  rock,  said  something 
quietly  in  Hebrew  or  Gaelic,  and  instantly  his  dogs 
were  off,  right  and  left.  For  the  next  half  hour  he  gave 
no  heed  to  his  companions.  A  little  he  directed  the 
dogs  by  force  of  lung  and  frantic  waving  of  arms. 
Then  as  they  diminished  he  blew  on  two  crooked  fin- 
gers a  whistle  that  made  Connie  clap  her  hands  on  her 
ears.  Out  and  out  went  the  dogs  until  she  lost  sight  of 
them,  but  Ian  saw  them,  and  blew  with  piercing  varia- 
tions, which,  even  to  the  untutored  sense,  denoted  al- 
ternate command  and  rebuke.  All  at  once  an  answer- 
ing whistle  came  down  upon  the  wind  like  a  challenge. 
Ian,  screwing  his  face  fearfully,  sent  one  blast  back. 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Then  the  long-drawn  modulations  changed  to  notes  of 
exceeding  sharpness,  flying  knots  of  sheep  began  to 
appear,  and  Connie  understood,  without  Norman's  ex- 
planation, that  the  gathering  had  begun  in  earnest. 

An  hour  later  three  large  droves  converged,  and  a 
delicious  babel  of  bleating  and  barking  filled  the  air. 
It  was  now  seven  o'clock,  and  the  shepherds,  tramping 
stolidly  behind  their  clamorous  flock,  flung  coats  and 
waistcoats  open  to  the  glowing  June  sun.  The  wind 
had  died.  It  was  to  be  a  hot,  cloudless  day,  a  perfect 
paradisaical  day,  if  one  had  time  to  spend  the  long 
hours  among  the  odorous  heather. 

Connie  followed  the  baaing  multitude,  enraptured 
with  the  wild,  pathetic  music,  the  appeal  of  the  great 
gooseberry  eyes  turned  on  her  as  if  craving  pity,  the 
inimitable  alertness  of  the  dogs,  the  splendour  of  the 
summer  day,  and,  above  all,  her  own  elated  feelings. 
She  did  not  know  that  as  often  as  occasion  served  Ian 
Veg  entertained  his  fellow-shepherds  with  fragments 
of  a  character-sketch  in  which  she  innocently  played 
the  part  of  the  Babylonish  woman  on  the  prowl  among 
Scottish  hills.  Perhaps  it  was  well  for  Ian  that  the  cap- 
tain was  equally  ignorant. 

The  slow  procession  traversed  a  wide,  sunlit  slope, 
slanted  across  a  valley,  adroitly  steering  to  clear  the 
bogs,  crossed  a  ridge,  and  in  a  cosy  dip  of  the  hill 
found  the  fold,  with  a  crowd  of  people  waiting,  among 
whom  Connie  easily  distinguished  the  laird. 

He  pushed  through  sheep,  dogs  and  men,  greeting 
her  handsomely ;  listened  with  interest  to  the  tale  of  her 
experiences  and  impressions,  condoled  with  her  on  be- 
mired  skirts,  said  gallant  things  about  young  ladies' 
pluck,  and  excusing  himself  for  having  to  be  in  several 
places  at  once  that  day,  passed  to  a  corner  of  the  fold 
where  Ian  was  using  unquotable  language  to  beasts 

116 


TEIUMPH  AND  DISAPPOINTMENT 

that  bolted  blindly  in  every  direction  save  through  the 
gates  open  to  receive  them. 

"  I  expected  you  an  hour  ago,"  the  laird  said 
brusquely.  "  What  kept  you  ?  " 

Ian  clutched  an  obstreperous  ram,  and  without 
looking  up  intimated  that  he  was  prepared  to  gather 
sheep  or  pull  horses  out  of  bogs;  but  he  could  not 
undertake  to  gather  sheep  and  assist  foundered  horses 
at  the  same  time.  A  dexterous  jerk  made  the  ram 
spring  forward  through  the  open  gate,  and  the  rest  of 
the  flock  poured  after  him.  Ian  stood  up,  wiping  his 
brow  upon  his  shirt  sleeve. 

"  Maybe,  sir,"  he  said,  a  lowering  fire  in  his  eyes, 
"  you  will  haf  seen  Alick  going  down  with  a  horse 
on  three  legs.  If  anybody  wass  to  ask  me,  I  would 
likely  say  that  if  it  had  stopped  at  home  the  sheep 
and  the  shepherds  would  be  here  an  hour  since, 
too." 

"  Well,  well,"  returned  the  laird,  willing  for  politic 
reasons  to  mollify  the  bristling  Ian,  "  we  won't  discuss 
that  now.  The  men  look  warm,  and  to  say  the  truth 
you've  appeared  cooler  yourself  many  a  time.  You'll 
find  the  bottle  in  the  cart  yonder,  and,  by  the  way,  see 
that  Miss  Ogilvie  is  treated  first." 

Ian  found  the  bottle  and  glass,  sidled  up  to  Connie, 
and  announced  bluntly  that  by  the  laird's  orders  she 
was  to  drink. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  beaming  upon  him  in  a 
smile  that  would  have  won  any  heart  but  his  own. 

"  Very  good  stuff,  mem,"  answered  Ian ;  "  just 
Highland  whisky."  His  words  were  polite,  but  his  air 
implied  he  could  not  for  his  life  understand  why  good 
liquor  should  be  wasted  on  her. 

"  Thanks,"  she  responded  in  the  same  engaging 
manner,  "  but  I  really  can't  drink  whisky." 

117 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


Ian  might  be  lacking  in  goodwill,  but  he  would  not 
fail  in  duty. 

"  The  laird  said  it,"  he  rejoined  doggedly,  and  filled 
the  glass. 

The  laird  chancing  to  return  at  the  moment,  Con- 
nie laughingly  protested  against  a  too  fiery  hospitality. 

"  She  says  she's  not  taking  whisky  the  now,"  Ian 
explained,  with  a  sidelong  look  at  his  master. 

The  laird  exploded  in  Homeric  laughter. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  he  cried,  "  it's  Ian  Veg  and  the  Fern- 
tosh.  Well,  you  must  understand,  Miss  Ogilvie,  that 
certain  of  our  Highland  customs  put  the  blush  on  tee- 
totalism.  When  a  fair  and  distinguished  visitor  hon- 
ours us  on  an  occasion  like  this,  she  is  expected  to  con- 
form." 

But  as  she  still  hesitated,  Ian  Veg  struck  in — 

"  If  she  will  not  drink,  I  may  be  going.  It  iss  high 
time  the  clippers  was  at  it." 

The  captain  tugged  at  his  moustache  in  a  vehement 
desire  to  kick  Ian  for  his  insolence.  But  the  laird 
knew  a  better  way. 

"  We're  not  going  to  let  Miss  Ogilvie  off  like  that," 
he  responded  gaily.  To  lan's  disgust  he  took  the  glass 
in  his  own  hand,  and  toadingly  as  a  serving-man  (so 
the  smouldering  henchman  thought)  presented  it  to 
Connie. 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  she  asked,  her  face  aglow 
with  interest  and  excitement. 

"  If  it  please  you,  drink  success  to  the  clipping, 
Miss  Ogilvie,"  replied  the  laird. 

She  bowed  to  him,  raising  the  glass  with  a  smile  so 
bewitching  that  for  one  dazzling  half  second  Ian  al- 
most wished  he  were  young  and  rich ;  but  he  crushed 
the  unworthy  feeling  down.  Janet,  if  a  trifle  tart  in  the 
tongue,  was  good  enough  for  him ;  and  any  barefooted 

118 


TRIUMPH   AND  DISAPPOINTMENT 

lassie  herding  or  milking  cows  about  the  braes  was 
better  for  an  honest  man  than  this  shameless  American 
baggage. 

In  her  eagerness  to  comply  with  local  custom,  she 
toasted  incautiously,  and  Ian  had  the  happiness  to  see 
her  gasp  and  weep. 

"  Thig  sin  as  do  shrbins  theid  an  cradhadh  innte  " 
("  That  will  come  out  of  your  nose  and  pain  will  go 
into  it "),  he  quoted  mentally. 

He  went  off  to  those  who  better  knew  and  appre- 
ciated the  pungency  of  Highland  waters ;  and  Norman, 
with  a  meaning  glance  at  Connie,  inquired  for  the  com- 
missariat. 

"  Bless  me,"  the  laird  cried  apologetically,  "  I  had 
quite  forgotten.  Miss  Ogilvie,  you  must  overlook  the 
preoccupations  of  gathering  day.  When  we  have 
breakfasted  ourselves  we  are  too  apt  to  think  the  whole 
world  has  breakfasted  as  well.  Norman,  you'll  find  a 
basket  in  the  cart  yonder.  What's  in  it  I  cannot  tell. 
I  only  know  that  Janet  cackled  over  it  like  a  hen  with 
one  chicken.  She  said  it  was  to  be  carefully  handled." 

He  had  to  go  round  a  corner  to  fetch  it,  and  being 
out  of  sight,  was  held  for  half  a  minute  by  talk  of  a 
deeply  personal  import.  There  had  evidently  been  a 
contest  for  the  honour  of  drinking  first  after  Connie, 
and  Donald,  lan's  colleague  "  in  the  hill,"  was  lucky 
man. 

"  Boys,  I  wish  I  knew  where  her  sweet  lips 
touched,"  Norman  heard  him  say. 

"  You'll  know  by  the  taste,"  put  in  a  wit  from  a 
neighbouring  farm ;  and  being  vain  of  his  voice,  he 
hummed : 

"  There's  kames  o'  honey  'tween  my  love's  lips, 
And  gowd  among  her  hair." 

119 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


"  Honey  and  gowd  both,  by  gosh,"  responded 
Donald.  "  I've  nine  pound  ten  by  the  half  year,  not  to 
speak  of  three  bolls  of  coarse  oatmeal  and  two  bags  of 
Indian  for  the  dogs,  and  I'd  give  all  the  meal,  and 
maybe  some  of  the  siller,  just  for  one  wee  taste  of  the 
lips  of  her  father's  daughter.  I  was  looking  at  her 
coming  down  by,  and  what  I  said  to  myself  was  this, 
'  there's  a  lassie,  and,  as  sure  as  the  sky's  above  our 
heads,  she'll  make  hearts  dunt.'  If  God  had  only  seen 
fit  to  bring  me  into  this  world  with  a  silver  spoon  in 
my  mouth,  I'm  thinking  I'd  know  where  to  sup." 

"  Brose  and  a  horn  spoon  for  you,  Donald,  my  lad," 
quoth  the  wit. 

"  Well,"  returned  Donald  sweetly,  "  here's  to  the 
lassie  that  deserves  no  worse  a  man  than  myself.  I 
wish  I  was  in  the  captain's  shoes." 

"  Take  yer  drink  and  stop  yer  clash,"  said  Ian 
curtly. 

"  Oh,  ho,"  cried  Donald,  who  was  four-and-twenty, 
and  merry,  and  a  connoisseur  in  feminine  beauty,  de- 
spite a  meagre  education.  "  What's  the  matter  with 
my  lord  now  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  hear  the  click  of  the  shears,"  retorted 
Ian.  "  Some  folk  that  should  know  better  forget  this 
is  clipping  day  and  not  clyping  day  at  all.  If  it  is 
whisky  ye  want,  take  it  and  pass  the  glass.  D'ye  think 
you're  the  only  man  that's  dry  ?  " 

When  Norman  returned  with  the  basket  he  was 
smiling  vividly,  but  declined  to  reveal  the  cause  of  his 
interest. 


120 


CHAPTER   XVII 

AMONG  THE  SHEEP  FOLDS 

THE  breakfast  was  ideally  suited  to  a  June  day  and 
a  mountain  appetite— cold  boiled  chicken,  cold  sal- 
mon, a  bottle  of  cream  of  such  quality  and  flavour  as 
heathery  uplands  alone  produce,  with  fit  and  dainty  ac- 
companiments. For  the  laird  had  put  Janet  on  her 
mettle,  and  Janet's  mettle  meant  the  honour  of  the 
house  of  MacLean.  In  consequence,  Maggie  received 
instructions  to  wring  the  neck  of  the  plumpest  pullet 
at  Craigenard,  and  Norman's  rod,  opportune  as 
Aaron's,  furnished  the  salmon.  The  tout  ensemble  was 
pure  delight  to  a  cook's  soul.  Moreover,  the  culinary 
instinct  was  quickened  by  something  moving  senti- 
mentally in  Janet's  old  bosom.  "  I  wouldn't  wonder 
but  lan's  right  for  once,"  she  thought,  as  she  went 
about  the  business.  "The  Holy  Book  itself  can't 
make  out  the  ways  of  a  man  and  a  maid."  Being 
a  woman,  Janet  entertained  herself  with  long,  ten- 
der views.  By  the  providence  of  God  and  the  skill 
of  lovers  in  crossing  fences,  it  was  hard  to  say  what 
might  come  to  pass.  Who  knew,  the  king  might 
have  his  own  back  again,  with  unexpected  treasure 
to  boot. 

"  Well,"  she  mused,  packing  deftly  with  arms  bared 
to  the  elbows,  "  there's  nothing  I  know  that  is  better  to 
court  on  after  a  morning  among  the  hills  than  a  nice 
9  121 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


chicken  like  that"  and  she  pressed  the  savoury  pullet 
with  pride,  "and  a  slice  of  Veagle  salmon  like  that, 
with  cream  and  scones  and  things.  Maggie,"  she 
cried,  "you're  sure  everything's  here?" 

"  Everything,"  answered  Maggie,  "  and  it's  wish- 
ing I  am  I  was  up  by  the  fank  eating  it." 

"  You  needn't  be  going  so  far  for  something  to  eat, 
Maggie,"  was  the  response.  "  There's  plenty  more 
porridge  in  the  pot." 

"  Send  the  porridge  to  the  fank,"  retorted  Maggie ; 
but  Janet's  lyric  feeling  ran  too  high  to  be  disturbed 
by  a  mere  impertinence. 

When  the  time  came,  Norman  spread  a  snowy 
cloth  on  the  green  turf,  made  a  seat  for  Connie  on  a 
tuft  of  dry  heather,  and  the  feasters  began  without  un- 
due preliminary.  Connie  declared  it  was  the  best 
breakfast  she  had  ever  eaten,  and  probably  she  was 
right.  For  five  hours'  morning  exercise  makes  a  de- 
licious sauce,  to  say  nothing  of  superexcellence  of 
cooking. 

They  had  finished,  and  were  moving  off  joyously 
among  the  shearers,  when  there  appeared  on  the 
bridle-path  below  a  figure  on  horseback.  It  was  Mrs. 
Ogilvie,  with  Alick  for  guide  and  guardian.  The  cap- 
tain hastened  to  meet  them ;  the  laird  remained  beside 
Connie. 

"  You  were  quite  right,  grannie,  dear,"  were  almost 
her  first  words.  "  It's  been  glorious,  and  we  have  yet 
to  see  the  clipping,  haven't  we,  Mr.  MacLean.  Why 
isn't  papa  with  you  ?  He'd  enjoy  it." 

"  A  very  heavy  mail  has  detained  him,"  answered 
Mrs.  Ogilvie.  "  By  the  way,  I've  news  for  you,  Con- 
nie. Jeff  and  Kitty  Dunbar  are  in  London  and  will  be 
with  us  next  week." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Connie,  and  Captain  MacLean  was 

122 


AMONG  THE  SHEEP  FOLDS 

puzzled  to  make  out  whether  the  ejaculation  meant 
gladness  or  regret. 

"  Come  and  see  the  clippers,"  she  added  without 
comment,  and  turning  quickly  went  off  with  the  laird, 
the  captain  following  with  Mrs.  Ogilvie. 

With  a  child's  wondering  delight  she  watched  the 
fleeces  rolling  down  as  by  magic  under  the  dexterous 
hands  of  the  shearers. 

"  They  come  off  in  one  roll  without  rag  or  tatter," 
she  cried  in  admiration. 

"  It  is  the  ambition  of  every  good  shearer  to  bring 
his  fleece  off  whole,"  the  laird  explained. 

"  Do  they  never  nip  the  flesh  as  well  as  snip  the 
wool  ?  "  she  asked,  for  it  seemed  nothing  but  a  miracle 
kept  the  clicking  blades  out  of  the  flesh. 

"  Of  course  accidents  will  happen  in  the  best 
hands,"  the  laird  replied.  "  But— ah !  " 

They  were  standing  by  the  shearing-stool  of  Ian 
Veg,  and  even  as  the  laird  spoke  the  sheep  under  lan's 
hand  plunged  suddenly.  Connie  gasped  at  sight  of  a 
gaping  red  wound. 

"  Ian,  that's  not  like  you,"  the  laird  remarked,  more 
in  surprise  than  reproof. 

Ian  did  not  express  the  thought  which  boiled  in 
his  mind,  to  wit,  that  if  God  gave  certain  people  grace 
enough  to  stay  at  home  and  mind  their  own  business, 
certain  other  people  might  be  able  to  clip  without 
drawing  blood. 

Instead,  he  called  out  gruffly,  "  Alick,  the  tar !  " 

Alick  came  at  a  trot,  stuck  the  point  of  a  stick  into 
the  tar-pot  and  rubbed  it  on  the  wound  with  a  palpa- 
ble pride  in  his  own  surgical  dexterity.  Connie  could 
see  the  prone  body  quivering. 

"  Poor  thing,"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  seems  to  hurt 
dreadfully."  Nothing  but  the  laird's  presence  kept  back 

123 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


the  scathing  retort  that  sprang  to  lan's  lips.  Grunting 
contemptuously,  he  turned  the  sheep  over  and  drove 
the  shear-points  viciously  out  of  sight.  Connie  held 
her  breath  for  more  blood,  but  in  another  minute  the 
sheep  rose  clean  and  graceful  from  the  midst  of  her 
cast-off  winter  clothes,  was  branded  on  the  side  by  the 
alert  Alick,  and  bounded  away  lithe  as  a  Derby  racer. 
To  grip  another  and  fling  it,  trotters  up,  on  the  shear- 
ing-stool was  to  Ian  the  work  of  a  second.  It  squirmed 
and  wriggled,  but  an  iron  left  leg  was  on  its  body  and 
the  glimmering  steel  points  were  at  its  throat.  The 
tangled  fleece  opened,  rolled  snow-white  from  the  pink 
skin.  Ian  called  for  the  branding-iron,  and  the  ewe,  a 
young  mother,  leaped  off,  crying  brokenly  for  her  dis- 
consolate lamb.  Connie  exclaimed  in  admiration,  but 
Ian  gave  no  heed,  and  the  party  of  inspection  passed 
on.  By  chance  they  halted  beside  Donald,  who  sang 
softly  to  himself  in  rhythm  with  the  shears.  Feeling 
their  gaze,  he  looked  up,  blushing  like  a  girl  in  her 
first  season. 

"  Isn't  it  very  hard  work  ?  "  Connie  asked,  with  an 
enchanting  inclination  towards  him. 

"  Oh,  no,  mem !  "  Donald  answered.  "  Ye  see, 
when  a  sheep  finds  it's  no  use  kicking,  it  just  lies  still. 
But  they're  awful  thrawn  whiles  though." 

"  A  little  like  the  lasses,  eh,  Donald  ?  "  put  in  the 
laird. 

"  A  wee  bittie,  sir,"  said  Donald,  in  hot  confusion. 

"  Donald,  Donald,  what  are  you  saying?  "  cried  the 
captain. 

"  Politely  assenting,"  interpolated  Connie,  with  a 
rippling  laugh,  and  moving  on,  remarked  confiden- 
tially to  Norman,  "  Apollo  in  the  guise  of  a  Highland 
shepherd,  and  apparently  without  the  knowledge  that 
he's  handsome." 

124 


AMONG  THE  SHEEP  FOLDS 

The  encomium  was  well  meant,  but  she  had  never 
seen  Donald  studying  himself  in  the  cracked  glass  on 
his  bothy  wall  when  about  to  descend  for  conquest 
among  the  lasses  of  the  glen. 

The  captain  wondered  how  Miss  Ogilvie  would  feel 
over  the  secret  sentiments  of  her  Apollo.  "  It  would 
never  do  to  tell  her,"  he  reasoned,  "  yet  she's  not  a 
woman  if  she  wouldn't  be  pleased." 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  coming  up,  remarked 
casually,  "  I  forgot  to  say,  dear,  there  was  a  big  bundle 
of  letters  for  you  in  the  morning's  mail." 

Now  even  a  sheep-shearing,  with  all  its  sunshine 
and  romance  and  merriment,  speedily  loses  interest  to  a 
woman  who  knows  there  are  letters  awaiting  her,  and 
presently  Miss  Ogilvie  discovered  it  was  high  time  to 
go.  There  being  no  other  escort,  Captain  MacLean 
must  needs  see  the  ladies  home. 

"  And  of  course  you'll  stay  for  luncheon,"  said  Con- 
nie, in  a  manner  that  was  not  to  be  resisted. 


125 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

A   MILLIONAIRE  AT  WORK 

THE  responsibilities  of  an  American  railway  mag- 
nate are  not  to  be  evaded  nor  abridged  by  taking  ship  to 
Europe  and  seeking  refuge  in  lonely  Highland  castles ; 
for  the  seclusion  of  Eden  itself  would  not  protect  him 
from  the  diabolical  energy  of  the  telegraph  and  the 
Postal  Union.  Duncan  Ogilvie  might  cherish  the 
illusion  of  country  ease  at  Dunveagle,  but  he  was 
merely  lengthening  the  chain  which  bound  him  to 
Wall  Street,  New  York.  On  starting  for  the  Craig- 
enard  sheep  folds  his  mother  left  him  with  two  secre- 
taries laying  siege  to  ramparts  of  correspondence,  and 
when  she  returned  the  typewriters  still  clicked  desper- 
ately. 

That  clicking  meant  chaos  and  a  breakdown  of 
the  local  postal  arrangements.  The  Postmaster-Gen- 
eral had  not  reckoned  on  this  invasion  of  the  solitudes 
by  a  prince  of  the  market-place,  and  omitted  to  provide 
for  the  speedy  handling  of  bales  of  letters  and  sheaves 
of  telegrams — all  urgent.  In  the  despair  of  utter  con- 
fusion his  lieutenants  petitioned  for  assistance.  The 
Government  pooh-poohed  till  stinging  complaints 
came  from  the  millionaire ;  then,  in  a  frenzy  of  zeal  and 
that  fine  regard  for  efficiency  which  distinguishes 
national  departments,  appointed  a  boy  of  at  least  three 
months'  experience,  who,  after  the  manner  of  his  kind, 

126 


A  MILLIONAIRE  AT  WORK 

blithely  proceeded  to  make  confusion  worse  con- 
founded. Then  the  young  lady  telegraphist  protested 
in  hysterics.  She  was  a  Lowlander  and  civilised,  had 
accepted  a  post  in  the  benighted  Highlands  in  expecta- 
tion of  rural,  leisurely  ways ;  and  behold !  she  was  be- 
ing hurried  to  her  grave  because  fussy,  idiotic  people 
three  thousand  miles  away  were  every  minute  of  the 
day  asking  silly  questions  and  demanding  instant  an- 
swers. She  had  had  hopes  in  life,  but  where  was  a 
girl's  chance  of  happy  marriage  if  she  was  to  be  all  her 
time  bent  double  over  a  cursed  telegraphic  instrument  ? 
With  characteristic  energy  the  Government  super- 
seded her,  and  doubled  the  number  of  telegraph  mes- 
sengers, that  is  to  say,  increased  it  from  one  to  two; 
and  as  Mr.  Ogilvie  still  complained,  a  second-hand 
bicycle  was  added  to  the  staff.  The  budding  official 
who  was  appointed  to  scour  the  mountain  roads  on  this 
engine  of  swiftness  spent  much  valuable  Government 
time  by  the  wayside  in  a  brown  study  over  punctures. 
The  wiggings  that  ensued  when  important  despatches 
were  hours  late  in  reaching  Dunveagle  hurried  the 
Aberfourie  postmaster  into  old  age  at  a  rate  which 
alarmed  his  doctor.  He  was  not  accustomed  to  Ameri- 
can methods. 

"  They're  killing  me !  "  he  said  tragically ;  "  they're 
killing  me !  "  and  wiped  a  weary  brow. 

The  glen  generally  speculated  on  these  things  half 
in  wonder,  half  in  awe.  A  new  spirit  was  among  them, 
and  its  manifestations  were  marvellous. 

"  Keeps  three  men  at  the  writing  together,"  said 
one  who  sometimes  had  a  glass  of  ale  with  the  butler, 
and  was  therefore  accepted  as  an  authority  on  ways 
and  means  at  the  Castle. 

"  Shorthand  and  machine-writing  too.  What  d'ye 
think  of  that  ?  " 

127 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


"  How  does  he  manage  it  ?  "  asked  another. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  my  friend  the  butler  says,"  an- 
swered the  first,  rising  several  degrees  in  importance. 
"  He  explains  it  in  this  way.  He  says  the  brains  of 
Americans  is  packed,  as  ye  might  say,  in  wee  drawers, 
and  that  as  one  drawer  shuts  another  opens  of  itself. 
By  opening  and  closing,  time  about,  ye  see  the  same 
brain  can  carry  on  a  lot  of  things  at  the  same  time. 
They're  a  wonderful,  wonderful  lot,  the  Americans." 

"  But  Ogilvie's  oreeginally  Scotch,"  objected  a 
sceptic. 

"  Ay,  born  in  Scotland,  but  bred  in  America ! " 
triumphantly  returned  the  friend  of  his  highness  the 
butler.  "  It's  all  in  what  you're  used  to.  Catch  a  mon- 
key young,  and  ye  can  almost  make  a  man  of  it." 

"  Ay,  indeed,"  assented  the  sceptic  significantly. 
"  I  mind  seeing  a  monkey  in  a  show  at  Aberfourie,  arid 
it  was  just  as  wise  and  clever-looking  as  some  men  I 
know.  As  sure  as  death,  I  thought  it  was  going  to 
preach  and  explain  things  to  us." 

Meanwhile,  the  subject  of  all  this  talk  dictated  to 
his  stenographers  on  matters  involving  millions,  and 
smoked  cigars  as  if  there  were  absolutely  nothing  on 
his  mind.  At  Connie's  entrance  in  search  of  letters,  he 
looked  up  smiling,  for  though  he  carried  on  the  busi- 
ness of  a  whole  cabinet  in  a  single  head,  he  had  always 
a  pleasant  face  for  visitors,  and  his  daughter's  inter- 
ruptions were  never  inopportune.  Not  once  nor  twice 
had  a  curly-headed  prattler  broken  deliberations  of  na- 
tional import  and  retired  with  a  kiss  of  triumph. 

"  Well,  Con,  back  again  ? "  he  cried  as  she  now 
entered.  "And  how  went  the  clipping?" 

"  Splendidly,"  was  the  answer.  "  Papa,  you  can 
have  no  idea  how  glorious  it  is  out  among  the  sheep 
and  the  heather  a  day  like  this." 

128 


A  MILLIONAIRE  AT  WOEK 

"  Am  I  not  my  mother's  son  ?  "  he  asked,  laughing. 

"  Grannie's  descriptions  are  first-rate,"  Connie  re- 
joined ;  "  full  of  affection  and  colour ;  but  for  the  real 
thing  you  must  go  out  yourself." 

"  You  must  know  most  real  things  if  you  are  to  ap- 
preciate them,"  he  responded.  "  I  suppose  New  York 
grows  dim  in  contrast  with  the  Highlands.  By  the 
way,  you  very  soon  put  your  horse  out  of  action — a 
brilliant  start  in  mountaineering." 

"  Then  you  saw  the  boy  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  he  gave  me  a  really  vivid  description  of 
the  performance." 

"  I  think,"  she  said  solemnly,  "  it  was  the  old  man's 
fault.  Papa,  I  believe  he  hates  us.  I  fancy  I  can  see 
hatred  in  his  face." 

"  Pooh !  you're  too  imaginative,  Con.  Captain 
MacLean  was  very  kind." 

"  Very,"  she  returned,  with  an  unconscious  empha- 
sis. "  So  was  the  laird  himself.  The  captain  saw  us 
home,  and,  of  course,  we  invited  him  to  stay  for  lunch- 
eon." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that.  I  want  a  rational  chat  after  my 
morning's  work.  I've  been  at  it  full  tilt  ever  since 
grannie  went  out." 

"  She  says  you  have  letters  for  me,  papa." 

"  Yes,  almost  a  sackful.  The  good  philanthropists 
who  live  on  other  people  are  finding  you  out,  I  should 
think."  He  handed  her  a  bundle. 

"  By  the  way,  I  suppose  you  know  Jeff  Dunbar  and 
his  sister  are  to  be  with  us  shortly  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  meaningly. 

"  Grannie  told  me,"  she  replied  simply.  "  Any 
others  coming?" 

"  Yes,  some  others ;  but  we'll  speak  of  them  later 
on.  Meanwhile,  present  my  compliments,  and  ask 

129 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Captain  MacLean  to  excuse  me  for  a  little.  I'm  in  the 
midst  of  a  problem." 

The  problem  solved,  he  greeted  Captain  MacLean 
warmly,  thanking  him  for  his  courtesies  and  good  of- 
fices towards  the  ladies. 

"  I  don't  think  I've  ever  seen  them  better  pleased 
with  an  outing,"  he  remarked,  glancing  at  his  daugh- 
ter. "  The  heather  is  so  romantic  compared  with  dusty 
railways." 

"And  the  heather,"  returned  Norman  affably, 
"  gives  romance  for  reward.  Railways  offer  something 
more  solid." 

"  Well,  yes !  "  Mr.  Ogilvie  admitted.  "  Steel  rails 
and  rolling  stock  are  solid  enough.  Yet,  sir,  man  does 
not  live  by  bread  alone,"  and  he  swung  off  into  talk  of 
clippings  and  moorlands,  as  if  there  were  not  a  thought 
of  finance  in  his  head.  Connie,  listening  and  watching, 
told  herself,  with  a  little  thrill,  that  he  liked  the  captain. 


130 


CHAPTER   XIX 

NATIONAL  CHARACTERISTICS 

AMONG  the  expected  guests  was  Brash,  the  pro- 
digious Hiram  Brash,  whom  Mr.  Ogilvie  had  picked 
out  of  a  railway  train  somewhere  between  New  York 
and  Philadelphia,  instructed  in  the  mysteries  of  rail- 
road manipulation,  and  elevated  as  a  model  of  smart- 
ness to  his  own  right  hand;  also  the  Hon.  Job  Shil- 
beck,  a  political  wire-puller  and  boss  of  autocratic  in- 
fluence. None  who  knew  them  ever  doubted  that,  as 
the  Western  phrase  goes,  both  men  had  their  heads 
right  screwed  on.  The  children  of  poverty,  they  made 
themselves  great  men.  Did  an  ambitious  capitalist  de- 
sire to  use  the  legislature  in  a  little  scheme  for  which 
he  was  prepared  to  pay,  Job  Shilbeck  was  his  man. 
Did  an  aspiring  patriot  pine  to  serve  his  country  in  a 
post  of  emolution  and  honour  that  would  bear  a  fair 
percentage  of  commission,  Job  Shilbeck  was  his  man 
also.  No  one — not  the  most  experienced,  not  the  most 
astute — quite  understood  his  methods;  but  one  fact 
was  indubitable :  there  he  was,  and  such  as  needed  his 
aid  must  take  him  at  his  own  price.  The  figure  being 
stiff,  he  prospered  mightily.  Brash  was  ytjunger,  but 
hardly  more  modest,  and  certainly  not  le^s  well 
equipped  by  nature  for  the  arduous  battle  of  life. 

When  these  two  arrived  at  Dunveagle,  together  as 
happened  by  the  caprice  of  fortune,  the  air  became 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


crisper,  the  horizon  expanded  as  to  the  strains  of 
"  Hail,  Columbia,"  or  it  might  have  been  to  the  ani- 
mating flash  of  diamonds.  With  your  dominant  Amer- 
ican diamonds  and  tobacco  are  the  harmonious  twins 
— a  softer  sex  combines  diamonds  and  lace — but  al- 
ways there  are  diamonds  in  evidence  of  the  national 
wealth,  diamonds  blazing  in  hair,  or  ear,  or  bracelet,  in 
shirt-front  or  cuff.  You  might  be  mistaken  about  Mr. 
Ogilvie's  adopted  country;  a  glance  at  Job  Shilbeck 
and  Hiram  Brash  sufficed  for  a  right  conclusion. 
Their  nationality  was  as  plain  as  if  the  bird  of  freedom 
screamed  it  from  their  heads. 

On  the  first  day  at  Dunveagle  Brash  the  magnifi- 
cent, casting  a  critical  eye  over  the  landscape,  owned 
the  place  was  good  enough  for  a  summer  vacation,  but 
confessed  himself  unable  to  understand  (an  unwonted 
bit  of  modesty)  why  an  up-to-date  New  York  railroad 
financier  should  wilfully  pitch  on  a  hermitage  among 
the  moors.  Even  the  scenery  was  not  at  all  up  to  Mr. 
Brash's  standard. 

"  Now  if  I  wanted  scenery,"  he  remarked,  taking 
a  cigar  from  the  breast-pocket  of  his  waistcoat  (a  lin- 
gering habit  of  earlier  days),  "  if  I  was  gone  on  woods 
and  mountains,  which,  thank  the  Lord,  I  ain't,  I'd  go 
out  west  to  Colorado  or  pitch  my  tent  in  the  Yo- 
semite.  Now  there  you  do  get  scenery." 

"  No,  you  wouldn't,"  drawled  Shilbeck.  "  No,  you 
wouldn't,"  he  repeated,  expectorating  meditatively. 
"  I  know  ye  better'n  that.  And  I'll  tell  ye  why.  There 
wouldn't  be  any  grease-boxes  about  to  keep  yer  hands 
sweet,  and  where  they  ain't  any  grease-boxes,  there 
ain't  any  scenery  for  Hiram  Brash.  When  you  took 
me  for  that  last  run  up  the  Hudson,  what  did  you  do  ? 
You  shut  down  the  windows  of  the  smoke-room,  talked 
patent  couplings  at  a  pressure  of  forty-five  to  the 

132 


NATIONAL  CHARACTERISTICS 

square  inch,  and  minded  as  much  about  the  Palisades 
as  if  they  were  the  pyramids  of  Egypt  with  old  king 
what-his-name  on  top  of  'em.  And  when  we  went  out 
shootin'  in  the  Rockies  the  time  Roosevelt  was  there, 
with  that  Englishman  that  had  so  much  trouble  fixing 
the  bit  o'  glass  in  his  eye,  didn't  we  lose  an  Ai  bear  be- 
cause you  had  to  do  some  figuring  on  yer  shirt  cuff? 
Yes,  sir,  that's  'bout  the  size  of  your  enjoyment  of 
scenery." 

Job  Shilbeck  chuckled  and  Mr.  Ogilvie  laughed. 

"  Dessay  that's  'bout  right,"  Brash  owned,  not  ill- 
pleased  to  receive  such  a  testimonial  for  zeal  before  his 
patron.  "  You  don't  catch  me  goin'  back  on  the 
grease-box.  No,  siree.  The  grease-box  keeps  the 
wheels  of  the  Republic  hummin'.  What  does  the  world 
want  to-day  more'n  anything  else  ?  Why,  locomotion. 
You  run  faster  and  smoother  than  anybody  else,  and 
yer  fortin's  made.  That's  how  I  figure  it  out.  There's 
money  in  the  grease-box,  and  don't  you  forget  it, 
though  for  that  matter  there's  money  mostly  every- 
where if  a  man  only  knows  how  to  pick  it  up. 
Shouldn't  be  s'prised  if  there's  money  even  here.  Any 
minerals  in  these  hills,  sir?"  he  asked,  lifting  his 
eyes. 

"  Rock  and  bog  oak,"  answered  Mr.  Ogilvie,  smil- 
ing. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Brash,  "  guess  if  there  was  min- 
eral people  here  wouldn't  know  what  to  do  with  it. 
Or,  if  they  mined  it,  could  not  get  it  carried  away. 
Tears  to  me  Noah  must  have  built  the  British  railroads 
and  that  his  family's  running  'em  yet.  I've  been  all  over 
their  lines,  and  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  we  wouldn't  put 
their  expresses  on  our  side  tracks.  As  for  the  railroad 
managers,  they  ain't  got  no  idea  beyond  muddlin'  up 
schedules  and  stickin'  to  'em  like  grim  death.  Some 

133 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


day  a  live  American  will  come  over  here,  build  a  road, 
and  knock  spots  out  of  'em." 

"  You're  the  man,  Brash,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie  quietly. 

"  With  your  lead,  sir,"  returned  Brash.  "  For  the 
present  there's  more  fun  at  home.  Ten  thousand  miles 
of  road  under  one  eye,  and  every  mile  of  it  as 
slick  as  greased  lightnin',  that's  what  suits  my  consti- 
tootion." 

"  Sir  John  Rolston  may  be  here  before  you  go," 
said  Mr.  Ogilvie,  "  and  you'll  have  an  opportunity  of 
discussing  these  things  with  him." 

"  And  who  is  Sir  John  Rolston  ?  "  Brash  inquired. 

"  Chairman  of  the  Great  National  Railway,"  Mr. 
Ogilvie  announced. 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  responded  Brash.  "  One  of  the 
fossils  that  turn  up  once  a  week,  get  a  junior  clerk  to 
instruct  'em,  sign  their  names  to  what  they  don't  un- 
derstand, and  snooze  for  another  seven  days.  'Pears  to 
me  it's  always  Sunday  with  folks  on  this  side,  though  I 
don't  know  that  they've  got  any  more  religion  than  we 
have.  Hullo,  the  ladies." 

Mr.  Brash  switched  off  to  meet  Mrs.  Ogilvie  and 
Connie ;  the  Hon.  Job  Shilbeck  turned  more  leisurely. 

"  Enjoying  the  scenery  ?  "  cried  Connie,  equally  to 
both. 

"  I  thank  you,  yes,  Miss  Ogilvie,"  Brash  answered, 
with  an  uneasy  deference  of  manner  for  which  she 
easily  found  a  reason. 

Two  years  before  in  New  York  a  matchmaker  had 
said  piquantly,  "  Why  don't  you  marry,  Mr.  Brash  ?  " 

"  Dunno,"  replied  Brash ;  "  ain't  got  time,  I  s'pose." 

"  Oh,"  rejoined  the  lady  archly,  "  where  there's  a 
will  there's  always  a  way,  as  the  history  of  mankind 
proves.  Very  busy  men  have  found  time  to  get  mar- 
ried." 

134 


NATIONAL  CHARACTERISTICS 

"  That's  so,"  Brash  owned  reflectively. 

"  Besides,"  cooed  the  lady,  who  would  presently 
have  marriageable  daughters  of  her  own,  "  the  Bible 
says  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  cried  Brash,  with  animation,  and  on 
being  referred  to  the  passage.  "  Sure  enough,  there  it 
is.  Well,  I'm  danged  if  I  had  any  idea  the  Bible  gave 
tips  of  that  sort.  Very  interesting  'bout  that  rib  busi- 
ness, ain't  it?  Funny  idea." 

"  Providence,"  explained  the  lady  sweetly,  "  is 
never  at  a  loss  to  accomplish  its  own  ends." 

"  'Pears  so,  don't  it  ?  I  ain't  much  on  Sunday- 
schools  and  that  kind  of  truck,  but  I  guess  Providence 
is  all  right.  It  does  feel  lonely  sometimes,"  added  Mr. 
Brash,  almost  sentimentally. 

"  Well,  you  think  it  over,"  beamed  the  counsellor, 
"  and  you'll  feel  so  lonely  you'll  just  go  right  off  and 
look  for  some  one  to  keep  you  company." 

Brash  promised  and  kept  his  word.  "  Why,  dang 
me,"  he  said  to  himself,  turning  over  the  Biblical  in- 
junction, "  stop  weddin's,  and  where  are  you  to  get 
your  population  ?  Let  your  population  run  down,  and 
what  becomes  of  biz  ?  Ruin  biz,  and  the  world's  up  a 
tree  like  a  sick  coon.  Besides,  a  team  of  two's  always 
better'n  a  team  of  one." 

As  a  good  citizen  he  had  a  duty  to  perform,  and  as 
a  man  of  business  his  thoughts,  like  the  industrious  ap- 
prentice's, turned  to  his  master's  daughter. 

"  Good  lookin',"  he  said,  running  over  the  qualities 
in  which  he  meant  to  speculate.  "  That  ain't  a  fault. 
Clever — that  ain't  any  fault  either.  Got  tone,"  Mr. 
Brash  mused.  "  A  man  who  can  afford  it  likes  tone ; 
that  certainly  ain't  a  fault.  Besides,  when  the  old  man 
kicks  off — "  Mr.  Brash  first  pursed  his  lips  and  then 
drew  them  in  with  a  smack  of  exceeding  relish. 

135 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


"  That's  all  right,"  he  said  to  himself  with  emphasis. 
"  Yes,  I  guess  that's  about  as  right  as  a  Wall  Street 
corner  lot." 

Thereupon  he  began  to  consider  ways  and  means. 
Carte-blanche  was  given  to  his  hatter  and  his  tailor, 
and  his  bootmaker  and  his  shirt  and  collar  makers,  and 
all  the  other  makers  that  fit  a  man  out  for  tender  and 
romantic  business  enterprises.  "  They  go  mostly  by 
appearances,  dearie  me,  they  do,  and  quite  right  too, 
quite  right,  bless  their  hearts — hey,  doodle-oodle." 
Mr.  Brash's  jubilant  spirits  are  to  be  inferred  from  that 
note  of  exaltation. 

He  made  his  proposal,  like  an  ideal  railway  man- 
ager, dwelling  with  fervour  on  the  mutual  advantages 
that  would  ensue.  But  God  in  His  wisdom  has  with- 
held the  business  mind  from  young  ladies,  and  Mr. 
Brash  was  politely  but  firmly  interrupted. 

"  If  I  have  taken  you  too  sudden,  Miss  Ogilvie,"  he 
said,  mistaking  her  meaning. 

"  Oh,  no ! "  she  returned,  a  little  sparkle  of  fire  in 
her  eyes.  "  A  foolishness  of  this  sort  is  never  too  sud- 
den, because  it  should  never  be  at  all.  You  must  never 
speak  a  word  of  it  again." 

She  rose,  making  him  a  stately  bow  of  dismissal, 
and  Mr.  Brash  reeled  from  her  presence  in  a  stupor  of 
amazement. 

"  Refused,"  he  gasped.  "  Refused — me  refused." 
And  then,  as  his  emotions  settled,  "  Hiram  Brash, 
'pears  to  me  you've  gone  and  made  a  triple-cylin- 
dered,  fifty  thousand  horse-power  idiot  of  yourself. 
Yes,  sir,  that's  what  you've  gone  and  done." 

Thereafter  the  relations  were  delicate.  Not  that 
Mr.  Brash  was  sensitive  enough,  which  is  to  say  fool- 
ish enough,  to  allow  delicacy  of  relations  to  disturb 
him  after  the  first  shock,  though  in  mock  humility  he 

136 


NATIONAL  CH AKAOTEEISTICS 

once  condescended  to  mention  one  or  two  of  his  own 
defects  as  a  setting  for  illustrious  merits.  "  I  ain't 
much  on  Emerson,"  he  said,  knowing  that  author  to 
be  a  favourite  with  Miss  Ogilvie,  "  nor  on  the  writing 
fellows  generally.  Books  ain't  in  my  line ;  nor  I  ain't 
gone  on  pictures'  and  statoos,  though  I  buy  'em,  of 
course,  same  as  my  neighbours.  But  if  you  want  a 
train  equipped  quick  when  a  rival  road's  gettin'  up 
steam  I  guess  I'm  there.  And  as  to  runnin'  the  thing, 
why,  put  me  aboard  the  engine,  put  me  in  the  caboose, 
it  don't  matter.  I  reckon  that  train'll  reach  its  destina- 
tion some  minutes  ahead  of  scheduled  time.  There 
ain't  any  gatherin'  of  wild  strawberries  when  I'm 
about." 

The  self-judgment,  as  Connie  knew,  was  absolutely 
just.  Unquestionably  Mr.  Brash  was  one  of  America's 
lightning  railroad  men. 

The  Hon.  Job  Shilbeck  was  of  another  order.  Mr. 
Brash  was  a  "  hustler  " ;  even  his  enemies,  and  he  was 
not  beloved  of  the  entire  race,  admitted  so  much.  Job 
Shilbeck,  like  deep  water,  ran  very  still.  Except  in 
moments  of  relaxation,  he  was  not  a  talker;  he  hardly 
seemed  to  be  a  doer.  Yet  on  any  morning  when  he 
was  attending  to  business  the  United  States  press  from 
Maine  to  California  had  a  smart  attack  of  fever;  and 
the  United  States  press  does  not  waste  rhetoric  and  big 
headlines  on  anybody  who  is  not  distinctly  somebody, 
save  at  advertisement  rates.  Ian  Veg  Mackern  (who 
might  have  been  a  journalist  had  Fate  been  unkind), 
taking  stock  in  country  fashion,  summed  him  up 
graphically  by  the  proverb  that,  like  the  white  horse  at 
the  mill  door,  he  thought  a  good  deal  more  than  he 
said.  A  cigar  was  constantly  between  his  teeth,  as  if 
to  keep  the  tongue  behind  them  from  incontinence ; 
certainly  he  kept  his  own  counsel,  till  the  sphinx  lips 
10 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


parted  to  give  instructions  in  a  new  move.  Then  cau- 
cus and  clique  throbbed,  and  the  temperature  of  the 
press  rose  suddenly. 

Now  as  a  finely  devised  civilisation  proves,  the 
political  manager  is  the  most  useful  instrument  ever 
created  by  an  obliging  Providence  for  the  benefit  of 
the  kings  and  princes  of  finance.  Ogilvie  did  not  med- 
dle directly  in  politics,  partly  from  lack  of  taste  for  the 
game,  partly  because  he  preferred  to  have  his  chest- 
nuts plucked  out  of  the  fire  by  others.  Wherefore  Job 
was  on  the  list  of  the  millionaire's  friends,  and  had 
crossed  the  Atlantic  to  have  a  look  at  effete  monarchies 
which  yielded  professional  politicians  no  boodle  and 
shoot  grouse  on  the  Dunveagle  moors. 

He  cared  nothing,  or  less  than  nothing,  for  grouse, 
or  dogs,  or  gamekeepers,  or  ghillies,  for  pedigrees  or 
old  castles,  or  indeed  for  any  of  those  things  which 
move  the  envy  of  the  flunkey  and  the  admiration  of  the 
picturesque  tourist.  He  could  sit  among  the  August 
heather — he  actually  achieved  the  feat — without  a 
thought  of  its  bloom  and  perfume,  turn  a  deaf  ear  to 
the  singing  of  the  wind  in  the  woods,  and  the  lowing 
of  kine  in  the  pastures.  Nay,  more,  he  could  turn  a 
poulterer's  eye  on  the  soaring  eagle.  But  he  desired 
very  ardently  to  ferret  particulars  of  Mr.  Ogilvie's 
plans  regarding  a  certain  movement  of  which  excit- 
ing whispers  were  already  in  the  air,  and  to  that  end 
was  ready  to  endure  stagnation  and  ennui. 

The  ladies  having  gone  about  engagements  of  their 
own,  Mr.  Ogilvie  inquired  whether  his  guests  were 
"  game  "  for  a  climb.  The  question  being  in  effect  a 
challenge,  they  could  not  decline,  though  both  de- 
tested walking,  and  at  home  boarded  a  street  car  for  a 
journey  of  fifty  yards  and  took  an  elevator  for  ten  steps 
of  stair.  But  they  were  in  the  Highlands,  where 

138 


NATIONAL  CHARACTERISTICS 

strange  notions  prevailed,  and — yes,  they  were  game 
for  a  climb. 

"  Good ! "  cried  Mr.  Ogilvie,  and  stepped  out  with 
more  of  a  Highlander's  ardour  for  the  braes  than  they 
cared  to  see.  He  led  them  by  bosky  paths,  where  there 
was  no  sky  but  the  arching  foliage,  and  no  sound  but 
the  whisper  of  leaves  or  the  twitter  of  disturbed  birds ; 
across  glades  that  gleamed  with  wild  flowers  and 
laughing  brooks;  through  clumps  of  hazel  where  the 
clusters  of  young  nuts  smote  their  faces,  as  with  a 
fore-smack  of  autumn,  and  raspberry  thickets  already 
luscious  with  fruit ;  paths  that  his  young  feet  had  trod 
or  ever  he  had  dreamed  of  stocks  and  railway  manage- 
ment. Great  God !  what  water  had  run  under  bridges 
since  then.  Ay,  and  they  who  walked  with  him  mar- 
velled why  "  one  of  the  smartest  men  in  New  York  " 
grew  so  dreamy  and  absent-minded.  How  should 
they  know  that  memory  and  imagination,  the  won- 
drous twin-sisters,  had  taken  him  to  themselves  and 
were  showing  him,  as  in  a  mirror,  long-vanished  faces, 
and  were  repeating  in  his  ears  the  very  tones  of  voices 
that  had  long  been  still  ?  How  should  they  know  that 
Dunveagle  Woods  of  common  oak  and  fir  were  magi- 
cal as  the  garden  of  the  Hesperides,  because  they  were 
the  lost  gardens  of  his  youth?  They  did  not  know, 
nor  could  they  understand.  So  he  spoke  of  none  of 
these  things  ;  but  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  he  stood  peer- 
ing into  the  thick  darkness  of  an  old  fir. 

"  What's  up  now  ?  "  Job  inquired.  "  Reckon  there 
ain't  any  coons  in  a  patch  like  this." 

"  I'm  only  looking,"  announced  Mr.  Ogilvie  quiet- 
ly, "  if  the  blackbird's  nest  is  still  there.  No,  it's  gone, 
like  so  much  else.  Once,  long  ago,  I  saw  two  boys 
climbing  the  tree  for  eggs,  and  I  still  remember  their 
terror  on  being  caught  by  the  laird." 

139 


A   SON   OF  GAD 


"  Guess  he's  dead  now,  sir,"  said  Brash,  as  one 
might  say,  "  Time  does  for  all  enemies." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  him,"  was  the  reply.  "  People  live 
longer  among  these  glens  than  about  Wall  Street." 

"You  see  that  house?"  pointing  upward — "the 
largest  that's  visible?  That's  Craigenard.  You'll  not 
remember  the  name  an  hour,  though  to  me  it's 
too  musical  to  be  forgotten.  In  the  days  of  which 
I  speak  I  was  at  Craigenard,  and  he  was  at  Dun- 
veagle." 

"  And  where's  he  now  ?  "  Job  asked. 

"  Up  there,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  answered. 

"  Jupiter !  "  cried  Brash.  "  That's  like  a  dime 
novel." 

"  No,  Brash,  not  like  a  dime  novel,"  Mr.  Ogilvie 
returned ;  "  only  like  life,  which  is  ten  thousand  times 
stranger  than  the  strangest  dime  novel." 

Mr.  Shilbeck  stroked  his  goatee  thoughtfully. 

"  Reckon  that's  about  right,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  Yes,  I  reckon  it  is.  Life's  a  mighty  cur'us  thing, 
come  to  think  of  it.  Mighty  cur'us." 

His  friends  had  never  before  found  Mr.  Shilbeck 
so  perilously  near  a  fit  of  moralising. 

"  Pretty  rough  on  the  old  man,  sir,"  said  Brash ; 
"  cut  up  bad,  I  expect." 

"  His  race  don't  carry  their  hearts  on  their  sleeves," 
responded  Mr.  Ogilvie,  "  but  one  may  imagine  his  feel- 
ings." 

"  I  should  just  reckon,"  assented  Mr.  Brash.  "  The 
mildest  rooster  going  don't  like  a  rival  bird  on  his 
perch.  No,  sir.  It's  human  nature  to  kick.  Hullo, 
what's  that  on  the  rock  above  ?  " 

Mr.  Ogilvie  had  no  difficulty  in  recognising  the 
long,  lean  figure. 

"  My  predecessor  at  Dunveagle,"  he  answered. 
140 


NATIONAL  CHARACTERISTICS 

"  Let's  go  up  and  interview  him,"  suggested  Brash 
in  the  spirit  of  a  schoolboy  bent  on  larks. 

"  Better  not,"  replied  Mr.  Ogilvie,  turning  to  go. 
He  did  not  add  what  was  in  his  mind,  that  the  man  was 
a  gentleman  and  hospitable,  and  that  perhaps  the 
larder  was  lean.  A  little  later  they  fell  in  with  the  cap- 
tain, and  took  possession  of  him  for  luncheon.  When 
they  reached  the  castle,  Jeff  and  Kitty  Dunbar  were 
awaiting  them,  having  arrived  some  hours  ahead  of 
time. 


141 


CHAPTER   XX 

YOUNG  AMERICA  AT   LARGE 

JEFF  and  Kitty  Dunbar,  even  more  trenchantly 
than  Shilbeck  and  Brash,  represented  a  triumphant 
latter-day  Democracy.  The  framers  of  the  American 
Constitution,  sagacious  as  they  were,  did  not  foresee 
that  one  day  the  British  Colonies,  which  about  the  year 
1775  "cut  the  painter"  and  began  housekeeping  on 
their  own  account,  would,  ere  the  architects  and  de- 
signers of  fate  were  comfortably  in  their  graves, 
achieve  the  distinction  of  setting  the  world  an  example 
not"  only  in  riches  and  enterprise,  but  also  in  social 
ambition.  Absurd  old  Europe  had  its  blue  blood — 
alas!  running  thin  in  these  days,  in  spite  of  constant 
infusions  of  golden  ichor  from  the  West — its  titles,  or- 
ders, ribbons  and  baubles  in  general  to  distinguish  the 
elect  from  the  mob.  To  the  sturdy  forefathers  of  the 
Republic  these  vanities  were  so  many  devices  of  Satan 
to  keep  the  minions  and  victims  of  kings  in  fit  amuse- 
ment against  the  day  of  reckoning.  Therefore,  such 
gew-gaws  as  stars  and  coronets  were  banished.  But 
time,  as  the  Republican  poet  says,  "  makes  ancient 
good  uncouth ;  they  must  still  be  up  and  onward  who 
would  keep  abreast  of  " — fashion.  What  to  the  simple 
forefathers  appeared  a  master-stroke  of  wisdom  was 
turned  in  the  cynicism  of  time  and  prosperity  to  folly. 
However,  the  mischief  was  done.  You  cannot  rip  up  a 

142 


YOUNG   AMERICA   AT  LARGE 

national  constitution  as  if  it  were  an  old  dress  to  be  cut 
and  reshaped  to  newer  modes.  The  inhibition  stood 
unalterable  as  a  dead  man's  will.  Was  America  hence 
doomed  to  Quakerism?  Nothing  of  the  sort.  If  not 
an  aristocracy  of  blue  blood  and  vain-glorious  titles, 
why  not  a  better  thing,  to  wit,  an  aristocracy  of  wealth  ? 
With  the  inspiration  of  genius  and  the  conquering  ar- 
dour of  youth,  America  made  unto  herself  a  golden 
image,  saying,  "  Be  thou  the  national  ideal :  by  thee  let 
us  be  judged."  So  that  Napoleon's  question,  "  What 
has  he  done  ?  "  became  in  the  new  order,  "  How  much 
is  he  worth  ?  "  The  worship  of  millionaires  was  in- 
stituted, with  degrees  of  piety  and  fervour,  nicely  grad- 
uated to  the  idol's  financial  standing.  Privileges  were 
apportioned  by  the  same  scale  and  method.  A  man 
worth  one  million  was  permitted  for  most  part  to  be 
a  law  unto  himself;  five  millions  entitled  him  to  be  a 
law  unto  others  in  all  matters  of  taste  and  most  matters 
of  conviction.  Ten  millions  made  him  a  corner-stone 
of  churches  (if  he  were  so  inclined) ;  twenty  gained  him 
the  right  hand  of  fellowship  from  the  inner  guild ;  with 
fifty  he  became  a  demi-god,  and  above  that  figure  his 
sublimity  inspired  an  awe  and  reverence  not  to  be  ex- 
pressed in  definite  terms. 

The  reader  perceives  here  a  fine  revolution.  The 
American  Constitution  was  designed  to  keep  a  free, 
innocent,  and  independent  people  happy.  But  free, 
innocent,  and  independent  people  have  instincts  of 
pleasure,  and  unable  to  force  a  way  through  title-deeds 
of  defunct  respectability,  ingeniously  made  a  way 
round  them. 

Once  established,  the  new  aristocracy  plumed  itself 
upon  being  more  rigidly  exclusive  than  the  old.  As 
well  might  a  blind  beggar  expect  to  dispense  with  his 
dog,  or  a  nigger  with  his  tan,  as  a  suitor  at  the  New 

143 


A   SON   or  GAD 


Court  gain  admittance  without  evidence  of  superfluous 
wealth  of  at  least  ten  years'  standing.  Except  in  the 
case  of  stray  noblemen,  the  Republican  regime  recog- 
nised but  one  passport,  one  faith. 

Those  who  had  worshipped  longest  and  most  de- 
voutly became  by  natural  process  leaders  and  priest- 
esses, and  the  name  of  Dunbar  stood  high  on  the  blaz- 
ing scroll  of  honour.  Jeff  and  Kitty  entered  the 
charmed  circle  at  birth.  For  it  was  their  great  luck 
to  have  had  a  grandfather  who  wisely  laid  the  family 
foundations  wide  and  strong.  Where  the  father  sowed, 
the  son  reaped  gloriously.  A  fortuitous  fate  brought 
Giles  Dunbar  and  Duncan  Ogilvie  together,  and  the 
rest  followed  as  naturally  as  rivers  flow  to  the  sea. 

Exquisitely  alive  to  the  rights  and  responsibilities 
of  his  position,  Jeff  Dunbar  lived  sumptuously  and 
spent  royally.  He  knew  and  loved  Paris,  where,  in  his 
frequent  visits,  there  clustered  round  him  such  sprigs 
of  European  nobility  as  chanced  to  have  fresh  devices 
in  pleasure,  and  the  heirs  of  industrial  potentates  to 
whom  the  odour  of  machinery  and  warehouse  did  not 
cling  too  offensively.  His  expenditure  was  on  the 
newest  scale  of  Republican  simplicity.  Once,  after  an 
English  blood  was  presented  to  him,  the  introducer 
remarked  as  a  possible  commendation,  "  He  has  an 
allowance  of  £5,000  a  year." 

"  Of  £5,000  a  year!  "  repeated  Jeff.  "  Good  Lord, 
how  does  he  contrive  to  exist  ?  " 

His  own  allowance  was  such  as  enabled  him  to  give 
the  costliest  wine  parties  that  ever  dazzled  the  gayest 
city  on  earth,  take  a  proprietorial  interest  in  the  race- 
course and  the  ring,  and,  in  general,  support  the  char- 
acter of  Wall  Street  and  the  fair  fame  of  the  Republic. 
Of  his  mission  to  Dunveagle,  one  of  the  chief  priest- 
esses in  New  York  wrote  to  a  disciple  in  London — 

144 


YOUNG   AMERICA  AT  LAKGE 

"  I  learn  that  Jeff  and  Kitty  Dunbar  are  going  to 
visit  the  Ogilvies  at  their  country  seat  in  the  Highlands 
of  Scotland.  That  means  business,  of  course.  We  are 
all  on  the  tip-toe  of  expectation.  Everybody  admits 
it  will  be  the  event  of  the  season.  Of  course,  we'll  in- 
sist on  having  the  wedding  here  in  New  York.  Spec- 
ulation is  rife  as  to  decorations,  etc.  I  put  the  flowers 
alone  at  a  minimum  of  $12,000." 

Thus  the  inner  circle.  Jeff's  own  ideas  were  vague- 
ly similar.  He  liked  Connie.  She  was  of  the  right  set 
as  well  as  the  right  sort,  and  he  supposed  a  fellow  must 
marry,  were  it  only  to  keep  the  family  plate  intact. 
Once  Mr.  Giles  Dunbar  mentioned  the  matter  to  Mr. 
Ogilvie  in  the  way  of  business,  and  Mr.  Ogilvie  saw 
no  objection  to  an  alliance,  if  the  young  people  were 
insistent.  Privately  he  thought  that  Jeff's  tastes  were 
perhaps  expensive  and  not  too  domestic;  but  he  was 
content  to  leave  the  matter  virtually  to  his  daughter. 
Her  sentiments,  it  appeared,  were  still  somewhat  un- 
certain. 

Jeff  was  not  elated  over  the  presence  of  Shilbeck 
and  Brash,  nor  did  Brash  rejoice  over  the  presence  of 
Jeff.  Mr.  Shilbeck  was  indifferent.  Jeff  was  the  son  of 
Giles  Dunbar,  a  man  of  first-rate  importance,  and 
therefore  to  be  tolerated ;  that  he  spent  money  like  a 
fool  was  none  of  Mr.  Shilbeck's  business.  Mr.  Brash 
could  not  rise  to  the  same  philosophic  apathy ;  for  it 
was  rumoured  that  Jeff  was  succeeding  in  the  great 
enterprise  in  which  he  had  himself  failed. 

"  Going  to  collar  the  whole  blessed  boodle,"  re- 
flected Mr.  Brash,  spitting  in  an  anguish  of  contempt 
and  envy. 


145 


CHAPTER   XXI 

YOUNG   AMERICA    CONTINUED 

As  a  man  of  resource  in  pleasure  with  a  name  to 
maintain  and  a  taste  to  gratify,  Mr.  Dunbar  proceeded 
to  take  possesion  of  Dunveagle  like  a  second  Caesar, 
whose  veni,  vidi,  vki  was  as  inevitable  as  the  light  that 
comes  of  sunrise.  He  inspected  the  stables,  tried  the 
fast  horses  one  by  one  in  a  buggy,  looked  into  howling 
kennels,  examined  curios  and  bric-a-brac,  not  like  a 
connoisseur,  but  like  a  millionaire ;  passed  judgment 
on  the  castle  and  grounds,  and  more  comprehensively 
on  the  scenery  visible  from  the  castle  front. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  remarked,  "  and  these  are  the  Scot- 
tish hills  one  reads  so  much  about.  They  appear  to  me 
to  have  stopped  growing  too  soon." 

Being  a  good  American,  he  declined  to  climb  to 
hill  tops  merely  for  the  sake  of  wide  views;  but  he 
guessed  a  considerable  "  towerist "  traffic  might  be 
done  if  light  railways  were  run  up  famous  bens. 

Notwithstanding  the  grime  which  the  fastidious  eye 
discerned  on  them,  he  would  have  fraternised  with  Job 
Shilbeck  and  Hiram  Brash,  had  they  shown  any  dis- 
position to  be  sociable ;  but  Hiram  was  curt,  if  not 
positively  hostile,  and  Job  smiled  ambiguously.  Job, 
in  fact,  was  amused. 

"  Say,"  he  remarked  one  day  to  Brash,  as  the  two 
watched  Jeff  going  off  with  the  ladies.  "  Pretty  good 

146 


YOUNG   AMERICA 


tailor's  ad.,  ain't  he  ?  Jimminy,  what  'ud  the  world  be 
without  its  fools  ?  " 

"  And  if  the  old  man  was  to  hand  in  his  checks  to- 
morrow," returned  Hiram,  "  the  tailor's  ad.  would  have 
more  millions  than  I  can  think  of  without  gettin' 
giddy." 

"  For  how  long?  "  asked  Job.  "  For  how  long?  If 
nincompoops  hadn't  millions  to  lose,  where'd  we  come 
in?  In  sayin'  my  prayers,  I  never  forget  a  word  of 
thanks  for  the  lot  of  complete,  patent-geared  fools 
that's  goin'  round  loose.  They're  the  greatest  blessin' 
we  have." 

"  So,"  admitted  Hiram,  chewing  the  stub  of  his 
cigar  absently ;  "  as  ye  say,  it  'ud  be  a  poor  world  with- 
out 'em.  No  soft  snaps.  Can't  you  get  him,"  jerking 
a  shoulder  in  the  direction  in  which  Jeff  had  gone, 
"  into  one  of  yer  nice,  safe  little  deals,  eh  ?  "  < 

Job  closed  one  eye  knowingly. 

"  He's  fresh  enough,"  he  responded.  "  Heard  he 
put  up  a  cool  five  thousand  dollars  on  one  night's  blow- 
out in  Paris.  In  the  words  of  my  respected  Sunday- 
school  teacher,  there's  hope  of  Jeff.  Yes,  Jeff's  very 
promisin',  very  promisin'.  Shucks!  ain't  he  right, 
too?" 

"  Right's  the  limited  mail,"  returned  Hiram  brisk- 
ly. "  Don't  admire  yer  greasers  that  hold  to  things 
as  if  they  were  glued  to  'em.  Jeff's  right  in  gettin' 
rid  of  what  he  don't  understand.  Say,  the  old  man's  in 
pretty  deep  with  Ogilvie.  Jericho !  if  there  was  to  be  a 
split  there." 

"  That  ain't  likely,"  rejoined  Job  thoughtfully ; 
"  they're  pretty  thick  now,  I  reckon  ;  and  Jeff's  goin'  to 
marry  the  girl,  they  say.  That'll  rivet-and-bolt  things. 
Well,"  Job  went  on,  holding  his  cigar  in  one  hand  and 
modestly  feeling  a  fifty-guinea  diamond  stud  in  his 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


shirt  front  with  the  other,  "  what  I  say  is  this :  she's  too 
good  for  him.  Connie  Ogilvie's  a  dashed  pretty  good 
sort  of  a  girl.  I  like  her ;  and  listen  to  what  I'm  goin' 
to  tell  ye,  Brash.  If  a  fellow  was  young  and  spry  and 
tolerable  good-lookin',  he'd  mop  up  his  face  and  put 
on  his  best  bib  and  tucker,  and  call  round  'bout  tea- 
time,  and  if  his  head  was  right  screwed  on,  he'd  do  biz 
before  leavin'.  Yes,  sir.  Brash,"  he  asked  suddenly, 
"  why  don't  you  marry  ?  " 

"  Dunno,"  answered  Brash,  with  a  start.  "  Guess 
I  ain't  got  time." 

"  I  guess  I  ain't  a  busy  man,"  retorted  Shilbeck, 
"  and  I  guess  Giles  Dunbar  and  Duncan  Ogilvie  ain't 
busy  men.  No,  I  reckon  we  ain't  busy,  and  I  reckon 
busy  men  don't  have  no  thought  of  keepin'  the  popula- 
tion agoin'.  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Brash,  you'll  be 
too  old  if  you  don't  look  out.  'Tain't  good  for  a 
man " 

"  Oh,"  Brash  interrupted  sharply,  "  ye  needn't  be 
makin'  yerself  tired  slingin'  Scripture  at  my  head.  I 
know  all  about  that — read  the  whole  story  how  Adam 
goes  to  sleep  (plenty  of  time  on  hand,  I  reckon),  and 
the  Lord,  thinkin',  maybe,  he  was  lonely,  takes  a  rib 
and  makes  Eve  for  company.  Well,  d'ye  s'pose  Adam 
ever  wished  that  rib  had  never  been  made  into  a 
woman,  eh  ?  I  guess  that  after  he  got  company  Adam 
was  many  a  time  mighty  glad  of  a  chance  to  take  a 
walk  all  by  himself  in  the  back  garden.  If  you  ask  me, 
Eve  didn't  turn  out  exactly  an  angel,  by  all  accounts. 
Guess  Adam  was  out  coolin'  himself  when  Old  Nick 
slithered  round.  'Tain't  good  for  a  man  to  be  alone, 
eh?  Well,  maybe  not.  But  my  notion  is  that  if  it's 
bad  in  the  fryin'-pan,  it's  pure  hell  in  the  fire." 

Mr.  Shilbeck  listened,  his  eyebrow  arched  in  sur- 
prise. He  did  not  expect  so  much  scriptural  knowl- 

148 


YOUNG  AMERICA 


edge  from  Brash,  but,  being  an  eminently  practical 
man,  he  pursued  his  own  train  of  thought. 

"  Then  there's  Jeff's  sister.  She  ain't  a  thing  to 
sneeze  at,  and  she'll  divide  the  boodle  with  Jeff.  Yes, 
sir,  'pears  to  me  there's  pretty  good  biz  for  the  man 
that's  young  and  spry  and  tolerable  good-lookin',  and 
has  his  head  right  screwed  on." 

"  Likely  she's  fixed  up  too,"  returned  Brash. 

"  She  ain't  married  that  I've  heard  of,"  rejoined 
Shilbeck.  "  Crossin'  the  Atlantic  has  made  ye  sick 
and  innocent.  I  tell  you  Kitty's  all  right,  good-lookin' 
enough,  and  'bout  as  lovin'  as  they  make  'em,  besides 
havin'  the  dollars.  All  the  expresses  you  run  out  of 
New  York  in  ten  years  won't  figure  out  at  half  the 
amount.  Say,  I'll  tell  you  something.  You  remember 
the  other  day,  when  you  were  carpeted  with  Ogilvie, 
and  I  was  taicin'  the  air  for  the  good  of  my  health  out- 
side?" 

Mr.  Brash  remembered. 

"  Well,  I  sat  down  under  one  of  the  thickest  of  the 
trees  over  there  smokin',  and  who  comes  and  sits  nigh, 
only  round  the  corner  so's  they  couldn't  see  me,  but 
Miss  Ogilvie  and  Miss  Dunbar.  They  talked,  and,  not 
bein'  able  to  get  away,  I  was  'bliged  to  listen.  Well, 
Kitty  she  was  layin'  off  'bout  London  and  Paris  and 
the  people  she'd  met  there — princes  and  docks  and 
earls,  and  what  not ;  and  it's  my  opinion  Kitty's  in  love 
with  a — what  d'ye  call  'em  that  they  stick  on  their 
heads  at  shows  ?  " 

"  Crowns,"  suggested  Brash. 

"  No,  not  crowns,"  returned  Shilbeck ;  "  a  cut 
lower  down.  Coronets,  that's  it ;  can  never  remember 
their  foreign  words.  Well,  Kitty  she  went  on  'bout  this 
dook  and  that  earl,  and  t'other  something  else,  till 
Connie  called  out,  '  For  shame,  Kit,  and  you  thinkin' 

149 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


of  gettin'  engaged.'  And,  quite  peart  like,  Kitty  says 
back,  '  Oh,  my  modest,  demure  Miss  Puritan  Quaker, 
do  you  never  smile  at  anybody  because  you're  en- 
gaged ? '  At  that  Miss  Ogilvie  cries  out  '  Hush ! 
hush ! '  and  the  two  went  off  gigglin'  so's  you'd  hear 
them  far  enough.  Now,  what  I  said  to  myself,  Brash, 
was  this, '  If  a  fellow  was  young  and  spry  and  tolerable 
good-lookin',  he  might  go  in  and  win  against  them 
all.' " 

Before  Brash  could  formulate  his  sentiments  on  so 
delicate  a  point  the  pair  were  interrupted  by  a  furious 
snorting  noise,  as  of  a  beast  in  a  rage,  and  the  next  in- 
stant Jeff  swung  round  the  corner  in  his  new  model 
sixteen-horse-power  automobile,  which  but  a  week  or 
two  before  had  been  the  pride  of  Paris.  It  had  won  an 
international  race  in  scenes  of  unparalleled  excitement 
and  glory.  There  and  then  Jeff  became  the  owner  at  a 
highly  fancy  figure,  and  it  had  followed  him  to  Dun- 
veagle  under  charge  of  a  French  engineer,  M.  Guy 
Dumont,  whom  Jeff  promptly  rechristened  Johnny. 
"  Don't  mind  my  calling  you  Johnny,"  Mr.  Dunbar 
had  said ;  "  it's  short  and  homelike,  besides  being  eas- 
ily remembered."  And  Johnny  M.  Dumont  was 
thenceforth  called.  Already  Jeff  had  scoured  the  coun- 
try on  this  new  wonder,  to  the  terror  of  man  and  beast. 

"  Coin'  out  to  skeer  the  life  out  of  some  more 
hosses?"  Mr.  Shilbeck  now  inquired  pleasantly. 

Mr.  Dunbar  smiled. 

"  It  ain't  the  hosses  that's  skeered  most,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Folks  hereabout  don't  know  how  to  handle 
ribbons.  I'd  just  like  them  to  see  me  behind  Black 
Bess  when  she's  doing  her  2.35  exercise  in  Central 
Park.  Say,  Johnny  and  I  have  put  on  the  goggles  for 
a  spin.  Are  you  fellows  game  ?  " 

Mr.  Shilbeck  reckoned  he  wasn't  insured  against 
150 


YOUNG  AMEEIOA 


accidents,  and  Mr.  Brash  found  he  had  business  to  at- 
tend to  for  that  day's  mail. 

"  Well,  ta-ta,"  cried  Jeff  gaily ;  "  I'm  going  to  pace 
a  bit." 

Half  an  hour  later  a  motor,  tooting  as  for  dear  life, 
tore  into  Aberfourie,  scattered  half  the  population  of 
children  and  dogs  along  the  main  street,  and  drew  up 
snorting  at  the  "  Inver  Arms,"  whither  an  indignant 
chief  of  police  followed  on  purpose  to  arrest  it. 
Johnny,  with  many  gestures  and  some  half-intelligible 
speech,  referred  the  law  to  his  master,  who  happened 
at  the  moment  to  be  in  friendly  converse  with  the  land- 
lord. 

Going  inside,  the  law  stated  its  business,  produced 
its  notebook,  and  proceeded  to  ask  questions. 

Jeff  smiled  urbanely. 

"  Guess,"  he  said,  "  this  sort  of  thing's  been  pro- 
vided for.  What's  the  regulation  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you'll  find  out  the  regulation,"  retorted  the 
law,  who  was  fat,  and  could  not  forgive  the  outrage 
of  being  made  to  chase  a  motor  travelling  at  thirty 
miles  an  hour. 

"  I  guess  that's  so,"  rejoined  Jeff  coolly,  applying 
a  vesta  to  his  cigarette.  "  My  purpose  in  asking  was 
to  save  you  trouble.  If  you  run  over  the  regulations 
for  me  I  guess  we  can  come  to  business  at  once.  You 
see,  it's  like  this,  the  motor's  French  and  accustomed 
to  racing ;  and  getting  its  head  a  bit  on  the  open  road, 
it  kind  of  ran  away.  That's  a  fact.  But  of  course  I'm 
responsible  for  its  good  conduct.  What's  the  dam- 
age?" 

The  chief  of  police,  who  was  also  sergeant  and  con- 
stable, stated  the  consequence  of  imagining  that  the 
county  highway  was  a  racing  track  for  giddy  young 
motors.  With  an  unmoved  countenance  Jeff  put  down 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


the  amount.  "  There,  if  you  give  me  a  receipt,  I  guess 
it'll  be  all  right,"  he  said  affably. 

"  But  I  can't  take  your  money,"  returned  the 
amazed  constable. 

"  Look  here,"  rejoined  Jeff,  "  I'm  taking  a  little 
rest  and  refreshment  in  an  inn,  leaving  my  motor  out- 
side in  charge  of  my  man.  You  rush  in  stating  I've 
broken  the  law.  As  a  lover  of  peace,  I  want  to  square 
the  law.  I  hereby  tender  the  law  solatium  for  its 
wounded  feelings,  and  call  the  host  to  witness  the  fact. 
Now,  sir,  take  it  or  leave  it  as  you  darn  please;  the  re- 
sponsibility rests  with  you." 

With  that  he  lay  back  smoking  serenely,  like  a  man 
conscious  of  having  done  his  duty.  The  law  fumbled, 
said  it  did  not  wish  to  go  to  extremes,  but  it  was  neces- 
sary to  warn  gentlemen  against  the  sport  of  racing  the 
local  expresses.  It  could  neither  impose  nor  accept 
fines. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Jeff,  with  the  same  unruffled  com- 
posure ;  "  well,  then,  I  guess  the  police  force  of  this 
place  falls  in  love  and  gets  married,  and  dies  and  leaves 
widows  and  orphans  same  as  in  other  places.  Do  me 
the  favour  of  adding  that  to  their  provident  fund  as  a 
token  of  my  interest  and  good  wishes,"  and  he  pushed 
the  money  across  the  table. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  cried  the  constable,  his  eyes  dilating,  "  I 
didn't  expect  that." 

"  If  you  had  you  wouldn't  have  got  it,"  rejoined 
Jeff.  "  Twice  within  an  hour  I've  taken  you  by  sur- 
prise, and  surprises  are  the  savour  of  life.  It's  been  a 
gratification  to  us  both." 

"  Guess  I  can  race  a  bit  now,"  he  remarked,  when 
the  constable  had  elaborately  entered  the  amount  on 
an  extra  leaf  of  the  official  notebook,  rolled  the  money 
in  paper,  and  gone  away  smiling.  "  Widows  and  or- 

152 


YOUNG  AMERICA 


phans  fetch  men  everywhere — a  beautiful  trait  in 
human  nature,"  added  Jeff  reflectively,  "a  beautiful 
trait." 

Jeff  departed,  tooting  like  a  prince,  and  a  mile  out 
of  Aberfourie  overtook  a  gig  with  two  men,  who  de- 
clined to  make  way.  Instead  there  was  turned  on  the 
occupants  of  the  motor  a  scornful  red  face,  the  face  of 
Ian  Veg. 


ii 


153 


CHAPTER   XXII 

MOTOR    VERSUS    GIG 

THE  laird  himself  drove  according  to  wont,  Ian 
Veg  accompanying  him  equally  as  companion  and  at- 
tendant. Now  the  laird  loved  a  spirited  horse,  and  for 
his  private  use  he  still  maintained  the  fastest,  hardiest, 
and  usually  the  wickedest  that  the  unerring  judg- 
ment of  Ian  could  procure.  Spotted  Billy,  the  present 
occupant  of  the  post  of  honour,  was  a  model  of  the 
equine  vices  and  of  one  grand  crowning  virtue.  Since 
first  he  stood  between  shafts  nothing  had  ever  passed 
him  in  a  fair  race ;  nothing,  he  and  the  laird  appeared 
to  think,  ever  would.  He  was  swinging  along  easily 
at  a  ten-mile  pace,  when  the  motor  came  up  be- 
hind impudently  tooting  to  make  way.  Billy  lifted 
his  head  and  threw  back  his  ears.  In  the  same 
instant  the  laird  asked,  "  What's  that  wheezing  behind, 
Ian?" 

"  I'm  thinking  it  iss  that  thing  from  the  castle,  sir," 
Ian  answered  after  that  look  already  noted. 

"  And  they  want  to  pass  us,"  said  the  laird  grimly. 
"  Ian  Veg,  we'll  see  about  that." 

He  gave  a  touch  on  the  rein,  and  Billy  began  to 
step  out,  his  left  ear  erect,  his  right  playing  to  and  fro, 
as  happened  when  he  was  excited  over  a  chance  of 
fun.  But  the  head  craned  a  little,  and  the  feet  flew, 
all  four  of  them  together  as  it  seemed.  Billy  could 

154 


MOTOE   Versus  GIG 


trot  his  fifteen  miles  an  hour  without  a  wet  hair  (if 
the  feeding  were  hard),  and  to  that  pace  he  now  rose 
blithely. 

"  Ay,  we'll  see  if  they  pass  us,  Ian  Veg,"  repeated 
the  laird,  carefully  keeping  the  middle  of  the  narrow 
road. 

Billy's  zest  was  beautiful  and  inspiring  to  behold, 
but  neither  he  nor  his  master  understood  motors,  nor 
guessed  that  what  was  killing  to  horseflesh  was  no 
more  than  gentle  exercise  to  the  mechanical  demon 
behind.  Every  moment  the  tooting  grew  louder  and 
more  insistent,  with  a  fiendish  undertone  of  throb  and 
whir  like  the  raging  beat  of  iron  pulses. 

It  was  a  new  sound  to  Billy,  and  a  feeling  of  un- 
canniness  began  to  creep  over  him.  Reading  defiance 
in  the  back  of  the  flying  gig,  Jeff  leaned  forward,  his 
eyes  agleam  behind  their  goggles. 

"  Golly ! "  he  cried,  taking  stock  of  the  glancing 
hoofs.  "  The  deacon's  mare  that  won't  be  passed. 
Johnny,  sure's  you're  alive,  it's  a  race." 

He  touched  up  the  motor,  and  Johnny  kept  the 
horn  going.  In  front  the  whip  flicked  lightly,  and 
Billy  sprang,  straining  on  the  bit,  his  nozzle  out  like  a 
racer's.  The  laird  sat  forward  with  a  set  face,  and  in 
his  excitement  Ian  gripped  the  side  of  the  gig.  Billy 
had  never  done  better,  yet  behind  the  relentless  motor 
forced  the  pace — toot,  toot,  toot,  whir,  throb,  like  a 
thing  out  of  its  senses  with  conceit.  Billy  broke  into  a 
gallop,  but  that  the  laird  would  not  have.  No,  they 
would  not  pay  the  insolent  thing  behind  the  compli- 
ment of  galloping.  But  next  minute  Billy  again  broke 
from  the  trot,  and  this  time,  instead  of  checking,  the 
laird  gave  him  a  loose  rein. 

"  See  at  him,  see  at  him,  sir ! "  Ian  called  out  in 
frantic  glee.  "  As  sure's  death,  Billy's  the  boy  yet." 

155 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


"  Ian,"  responded  the  laird  from  between  set  teeth, 
"  tell  me,  is  the  thing  holding  its  own  ?  " 

Ian  twisted  on  his  seat. 

"  No,"  he  cried,  "  it's  losing ;  it's  losing.  Come  on, 
ye  snorting  brute ;  come  on."  And  without  knowing 
it,  he  shook  a  clenched  fist  at  the  lagging  motor. 

Now  the  motor  had  slackened  for  reasons  which 
Ian  did  not  comprehend,  had,  in  fact,  slowed  down  in 
a  spirit  of  playfulness  to  prove  how  easily  it  could 
overhaul  the  vaunting  gig ;  and  even  as  Ian  challenged, 
it  came  on  again,  tooting  hilariously.  Getting  close 
up,  Jeff  called  out  to  make  way,  but  the  only  answer 
was  a  look  of  scorn  and  defiance  from  Ian. 

"  Johnny,"  remarked  Jeff,  with  great  cheerfulness, 
"  it's  a  race  all  right.  Keep  your  tooter  going." 

He  edged  up  on  the  left  in  a  joyous  furore  of  hum- 
ming and  tooting.  Till  then  Billy  was  simply  on  his 
mettle ;  from  that  moment  pride  vanished,  and  he  flew 
from  fear — sheer  living  fear.  In  half  a  minute,  as  it 
seemed,  the  spume  was  showering  from  his  mouth,  his 
flanks  whitened,  and  the  glossy  back  was  drenched. 
His  pace  was  the  flight  of  terror,  with  death  in  diabolic 
glee  at  its  heels. 

"  Ian,"  said  the  laird  in  a  half-gasp,  "  I  think  he's 
run  away." 

He  laid  his  weight  on  the  reins,  but  Billy  heeded  no 
more  than  if  a  child  were  toying  with  him.  Then  the 
two  men  drew  together  suddenly  with  all  their  weight. 
No  mouth  could  withstand  that  terrific  jerk.  Billy's 
head  went  up;  but  simultaneously  those  who  pulled 
dropped  back,  holding  a  broken  rein.  Half  an  instant 
they  looked  at  each  other  blankly.  Then  without  a 
word,  Ian  rose,  clambered  over  the  dashboard,  and 
setting  his  feet  on  the  shafts,  got  astride  of  the  frenzied 
Billy.  Guessing  his  intention,  the  laird  sat  rigidly  still. 

156 


M o T o E   Ve rsus  GIG 


Ian  slipped  forward,  his  knees  gripping  hard,  and  the 
laird  watched  breathlessly.  Ian  stretched  for  the 
bridle,  toppled,  recovered  himself,  stretched  again, 
straining  desperately,  then  lifted  a  despairing  crimson 
face,  and  sat  up,  dizzily  holding  to  the  saddle. 

Jeff  saw,  and  with  the  quick  intelligence  of  his  na- 
tion, grasped  the  situation.  In  a  moment  the  power 
was  off  the  motor  and  the  horn  silent. 

"  What  made  the  darned  thing  go  like  that  ?  "  he 
said,  disappointment  and  concern  mingled  equally  in 
his  tone.  All  he  could  do  now  was  to  follow  quietly 
like  an  improvised  ambulance  to  be  ready  in  case  of 
need.  He  was  perfectly  cool,  but  Johnny  was  excited. 
"  Zair,  zair ! "  he  cried,  his  eyes  starting  in  their 
sockets.  "  Mon  Dieu,  zey  will  be  turn  over  upside 
down ;  zey  will  be,  what  you  call  it,  kill,  slain !  " 

"  Hope  not,"  returned  Jeff ;  "  but  we  must  keep 
them  in  sight." 

Five  miles  Billy  held  the  road,  vehicles  and  pedes- 
trians crushing  aside  to  let  him  pass,  and  startled  work- 
ers running  from  fields  to  get  a  glimpse  of  him.  At  the 
turn  to  Craigenard  Ian,  still  riding  postillion,  leaned 
forward  to  guide  him ;  but  Billy  was  not  to  be  guided. 
For  one  moment,  as  the"  wheel  took  the  bank,  the  gig 
seemed  to  poise  in  the  air;  the  next  Billy  was  gone, 
taking  the  shafts  and  leaving  the  body.  When  lan's 
wits  returned,  Jeff  was  dragging  the  laird  from  beneath 
the  wreck. 

"  He's  hurt,"  said  Mr.  Dunbar  quietly ;  "  get  him 
into  the  motor." 

The  laird  lifted  a  pallid  face. 

"  No,"  he  said  peremptorily,  "  no."  But  his  fea- 
tures twisted,  and  his  lips  closed  on  a  gasp  of  pain. 

"  Don't  you  worry,  sir,"  responded  Jeff  pleasantly. 
"Johnny,  you  work  the  motor  alongside  here.  Be 

157 


A  SON  OF   GAD 


careful  now  and  be  quick.  Hurt  about  the  shoulder, 
sir?" 

"  A  little,"  answered  the  laird,  keeping  his  teeth 
clenched.  "  But  I'll  manage  for  myself,  thank  you." 

"  It  will  be  easier  with  assistance,"  replied  Jeff  im- 
perturbably.  "  Americans  aren't  priests  and  Levites 
to  pass  by  on  the  other  side  when  a  man's  down.  Now, 
sir,  make  yourself  easy.  We  won't  be  a  second." 

"  I'll  not  put  a  foot  in  it,"  cried  the  laird  fiercely, 
"  you  understand  ?  " 

"  If  you  just  put  your  left  arm  round  my  neck,  so, 
it  will  be  over  before  you  can  say  Jack  Robinson,"  was 
the  response.  "  There,  easy,  men,  easy.  Sorry  it  hurts 
so  much,  sir." 

In  truth,  the  laird  was  hurt  more  than  he  guessed. 
Every  movement  was  as  a  stab,  and  nothing  but  an  im- 
perious will  suppressed  a  groan.  Before  he  knew  he 
was  in  the  detested  motor,  with  Ian  Veg  supporting 
him.  The  masterful  Jeff,  jumping  up  in  front,  headed 
softly  for  the  castle. 

"  I  thought  you  were  to  take  me  home,"  the  laird 
protested.  "  I  won't  go  to  the  castle." 

"  After  first  aid,"  said  Jeff  blandly.  "  To  jolt  you 
over  the  road  without  it  is  a  responsibility  I  won't  take 
and  a  cruelty  I  can't  think  of.  As  I'm  partly  respon- 
sible for  this,  I  guess  I'm  just  going  to  see  it  through. 
Now,  my  man  "  (to  Ian  Veg),  "  keep  your  master 
steady." 

At  the  inner  gate  they  met  Mr.  Ogilvie  with  Shil- 
beck,  Brash,  and  Rollo  Linnie ;  and,  in  his  own  light- 
ning way,  Jeff  explained  what  had  happened. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  be  here,  Mr.  Ogil- 
vie," the  laird  struck  in,  "  but  it  seems  I'm  for  the  in- 
firmary." 

"  I'm  both  glad  and  sorry  to  see  you,  sir,"  Mr. 
158 


MOTOR  Versus  GIG 


Ogilvie  replied  sympathetically.  "  At  the  least  you'll 
allow  us,  as  Mr.  Dunbar  says,  to  render  first  aid." 

He  was  carried  in,  to  the  momentary  consternation 
of  the  ladies;  and  Mr.  Ogilvie  gave  instructions  to 
despatch  the  fastest  horse  in  the  stable  for  a  doctor. 

"  I  guess,  sir,"  said  Jeff,  "  the  fastest  horse  this  time 
is  my  motor.  Johnny,  whip  her  about." 

He  had  hardly  gone  when  Connie  despatched  the 
following  note  to  Craigenard : 

"  Dear  Captain  MacLean — Lest  you  should  be 
alarmed  by  a  horse  with  broken  shafts,  I  write  to  tell 
you  Mr.  MacLean  is  here,  and  I  hope  not  seriously 
hurt.  Will  you  come  as  soon  as  possible,  but  do  not 
worry  yourself  conjuring  up  tragic  pictures. — Yours 
sincerely,  CONSTANCE  OGILVIE." 

Half-way  up  the  messenger  met  the  captain,  who 
had  started  instantly  on  Billy's  arrival. 


159 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE  LAIRD  A  PRISONER :  CONNIE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY 

IN  his  day  the  laird  had  been  in  many  a  sore  plight, 
but  in  none  that  took  him  more  acutely  in  a  tender  spot 
than  this.  To  be  resigned  under  the  affliction  of  two 
ribs  and  a  collar-bone  broken  was  not  perhaps  a  feat 
beyond  his  piety;  but  it  was  quite  another  thing  to 
be  helpless  on  his  back  in  the  enemy's  house. 

"  How  long  am  I  expected  to  lie  here  ?  "  he  asked 
the  doctor,  not  too  amiably,  and  when  the  probable 
period  was  named,  he  spoke  disparagingly  of  science, 
not  omitting  to  curse  his  own  stupidity  in  getting 
mangled. 

His  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Winnock,  minister  of  the 
parish,  came  with  the  solace  of  religion ;  but  the  laird 
was  as  little  to  be  comforted  as  Rachel.  From  habit  he 
treated  the  Church  with  the  respect  due  to  an  estab- 
lished institution.  Noblesse  oblige;  one  must  set  an 
example  even  where  one's  faith  is  weak.  Besides,  he 
had  said  more  than  once,  "  as  ministers  go,  Winnock's 
a  good  fellow ;  a  little  inclined,  perhaps,  like  the  cloth 
in  general,  to  associate  Christian  grace  with  solid 
worldly  prosperity,  but  on  the  whole  undoubtedly  a 
good  fellow,  a  true  sportsman,  a  judge  of  horseflesh, 
and  as  genial  a  companion  as  ever  drained  a  glass  of 
toddy."  These  virtues  the  laird  admired  and  appre- 
ciated. But  he  did  not  admire  nor  appreciate  the  balm 

160 


THE  LAIRD   A  PRISONER 

and  oil  which  Mr.  Winnock  brought  for  broken  bones 
and  a  wounded  pride. 

"  My  dear  old  friend,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  the 
minister,  "  you  and  I  have  known  each  other  a  long 
time." 

"  Five-and-twenty  years,  I'm  proud  to  say,"  re- 
sponded Mr.  Winnock. 

"  And  so  far  as  I  can  remember  we've  never  worn 
masks.  We've  said  our  say  and  done  our  will  and 
gone  our  way  without  any  pretending." 

"  No  pretending,"  repeated  Mr.  Winnock;  "  none, 
none  whatever." 

"  Then,  as  you  love  a  sinner  in  misfortune,  no  ser- 
mons or  moralisings.  I'm  beyond  medicine  of  that 
sort.  Tell  me  a  story  with  as  much  as  you  like  of 
the  devil  in  it,  and  when  you  go  home  send  me  the 
wildest  novel  in  your  library.  Yet  not  that,  either. 
God  knows  I'm  mad  enough.  No,  let  it  be  something 
sane,  but  none  of  your  sermons ;  a  Walter  Scott  if  you 
can,  and  Rob  Roy  by  preference.  Did  I  ever  tell  you 
of  the  family  interest  in  Rob?" 

"  Never,"  replied  Mr.  Winnock,  settling  down. 

"  That's  queer,"  said  the  laird.  "  Well,  the  story'll 
pass  the  time  now.  Once  when  some  of  his  people 
were  crossing  the  hills  here,  they  whipped  up  more 
Dunveagle  cattle  than  was  at  all  neighbourly.  Rob 
found  out  what  they  had  done,  apologised  like  a  gen- 
tleman, said  it  was  hard  to  keep  fools  right — a  true 
enough  word  for  the  pulpit,  my  friend — and  sent  back 
twice  the  number  of  black  cattle  that  had  been  lifted, 
with  this  message,  '  that  none  can  gar  ye  blush,  all  I 
send  in  addition  to  what's  your  right  are  bonny  beasts 
of  my  own  rearing;  no  man's  mark  is  on  them  but 
mine.  When  I  come  Dunveagle  way  again  there'll  be 
a  quaigh  and  a  collop.'  Well,  time  passed,  and  Athole, 

161 


A  SON   OF  GAD 


over  by  here,  got  his  tarry  fingers  on  Rob,  and  what's 
more  they  stuck.  Athole  was  putting  up  a  grand  new 
gibbet  on  a  hill,  where  all  could  see  Rob  hanged.  The 
news  came  to  Dunveagle,  and  next  morning,  when 
Athole's  minions  looked  in,  Rob's  place  was  empty. 
After  that  there  were  quaighs  and  collops  at  Dun- 
veagle. Ugh !  men  didn't  lie  uselessly  on  their  backs 
then." 

He  little  guessed  there  was  a  conspiracy  to  keep 
him  prisoner,  the  captain  and  the  doctor  being  among 
the  conspirators. 

"  You  see,"  Connie  told  them,  "  we  are  responsible 
for  the  accident,  and  Mr.  MacLean  mustn't  leave  until 
it's  quite  safe  to  remove  him,  must  he  ?  " 

She  looked  at  the  captain  as  one  pleading  for  a 
favour;  and  to  his  shame  Norman  forgot  his  father's 
grumblings  and  sufferings. 

"  You  are  very  good,  Miss  Ogilvie,"  he  murmured. 

"  No,  don't  say  that,"  she  cried.    "  Promise !  " 

She  laid  three  dainty  electric  fingers  on  his  arm, 
and  his  arteries  began  to  beat  excitedly. 

"  Promise !  "  she  repeated,  archly  bending  towards 
him;  and  Kitty  adding  a  plea  to  Connie's,  he  incon- 
tinently surrendered.  The  girls  clapped  their  hands; 
now  they  had  only  to  master  the  laird,  who  was  at  their 
mercy.  He  was  more  difficult  to  manage,  but  in  the 
end  he  too  capitulated  on  condition  that  he  might  have 
Ian  Mackern  beside  him. 

So  Ian  returned  for  a  space  to  the  castle,  lording  it 
over  the  army  of  servants  like  a  native  prince  over  a 
troop  of  aliens.  With  Connie  he  could  do  nothing,  and 
his  master  was  equally  helpless.  The  laird  studied  her 
closely  as  a  new  product  of  civilisation ;  a  very  charm- 
ing, beneficent  product,  he  was  obliged  to  own,  despite 
the  fact  that  she  was  an  Ogilvie,  and  insisted  even  with 

162 


CONNIE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY 

him  on  having  her  own  way.  A  little  wistfully  he 
thought  what  her  power  over  young  men  must  be,  see- 
ing she  did  what  she  liked  with  the  old.  "  If  she  does 
this  with  the  dry  tree,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  what  will 
she  not  do  with  the  green  ?  " 

As  a  consequence  of  all  these  arrangements,  Alick 
went  much  to  and  fro  between  Craigenard  and  Dun- 
veagle.  From  the  first,  Connie  had  been  interested  in 
this  nursling  of  the  hills,  and  now  bestowed  marks  of 
her  favour,  which  for  some  time  were  more  embar- 
rassing than  welcome.  For  one  thing  he  sang  under 
her  direction,  and  this  led  to  their  being  often  alone. 
At  such  times,  in  addition  to  Gaelic  songs,  he  gave  her 
delectable  bits  of  autobiography  and  piquant  scraps  of 
the  history  of  the  old  race  of  Dunveagle.  One  day, 
half  by  accident,  he  told  her  something  which  set  her 
thinking  deeply  and  compassionately.  Before  many 
hours  were  past,  she  was  to  think  yet  more  deeply  on 
the  same  subject. 

That  evening  the  laird,  being  troubled  and  feverish, 
talked  in  his  sleep.  As  it  chanced  she  was  nurse  and 
sole  listener,  and  she  shuddered  eerily  as  the  sick  man's 
delirium  confirmed  Alick's  rational  statement.  What 
he  said  stirred  new  chords  within  her.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  began  to  project  herself  imaginative- 
ly into  the  position  of  one  who  has  to  plan  rigorously, 
and  perhaps  to  pinch  in  order  to  make  ends  meet.  She 
recalled  certain  apophthegms  of  millionaires  bearing 
on  the  blessings  of  poverty,  but  could  remember  no 
instance  of  the  rich  man  flinging  away  his  riches  for 
sake  of  the  benefits  he  commended  to  others.  Here  was 
a  curious  inconsistency — nay,  she  feared,  a  glaring  in- 
sincerity or  drug  to  the  ailing  conscience.  An  honest 
lover  of  privilege,  she  had  no  disposition  to  complain 
of  heaven  for  making  her  a  rich  man's  daughter;  but 

163 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


her  very  appreciation  of  the  power  of  money  opened 
her  eyes  to  the  disadvantages  and  trials  of  those  whose 
purses  were  lean.  By  an  odd  chain  of  association  these 
thoughts  suggested  reasons  for  a  rankling  resentment 
in  certain  breasts  against  her  own  presence  at  Dun- 
veagle. 

A  mere  woman  of  the  world  would  have  shut  eyes 
and  ears  to  such  things,  or  arbitrarily  made  them  im- 
possible. Now  Connie,  while  a  woman  of  the  world, 
as  every  American  damsel  is  a  woman  of  the  world, 
was  something  more,  and  in  this  instance  that  some- 
thing more  was  everything. 

Thinking  strange,  new  thoughts,  she  suddenly 
asked  her  protege — 

"  Alick,  if  you  were  told  you  could  have  your  dear- 
est wish,  what  would  it  be  ?  "  and  promptly  as  tongue 
could  speak  came  the  answer,  "  Get  Dunveagle  back 
for  the  laird,  mem." 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  with  a  little  start ;  and  then  recov- 
ering with  a  smile.  "  And  do  you  think  there's  any 
chance  of  that  ?  " 

Now  to  a  boy  of  fourteen,  vibrating  in  every  fibre 
with  hope  and  confidence,  all  things  are  possible,  and 
Alick  answered  accordingly. 

"  But,"  Connie  rejoined,  "  it  would  take  a  great 
deal  of  money  to  buy  back  Dunveagle.  Have  you  any 
idea  how  much  ?  " 

Alick  had  the  same  clear  idea  of  the  amount  re- 
quired as  of  the  internal  arrangements  of  Jupiter ;  but 
ignorance  was  no  bar  to  belief.  Yes,  no  doubt  it  would 
take  a  great  deal  of  money,  but  what  of  that?  The 
laird  was  saving  up. 

"  Saving  up,"  she  repeated  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  mem,"  returned  Alick,  gloating  over  a  great 
secret.  "  And  I  know  where  he  keeps  his  money." 

164 


CONNIE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY 

"  Why,  of  course  he'll  keep  his  money  in  a  bank 
like  other  people,"  said  Connie. 

But  Alick  smiled  at  her  ignorance. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  he  doesn't  keep  it  in  a  bank, 
because  people  would  take  it  from  him.  But " 

He  stopped  suddenly  as  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice. 
Connie  caressed  him  with  her  eyes ;  Alick's  vanity  was 
flattered. 

"  Where  then  ?  "  she  asked  graciously. 

"  It's  a  secret,"  he  replied,  feeling  the  sweetness  of 
having  a  great  lady  hanging  on  his  answer. 

"  And  you  won't  trust  me,  Alick  ?  " 

"  No,  mem ;  Ian  would  kill  me." 

"  Then  Ian  knows." 

"  Yes,  mem ;  it  was  Ian  that  told  me." 

"  Does  Captain  MacLean  know  ?  " 

"  No,  mem,  none  but  Ian  and  me  knows  outside 
the  laird  himself." 

"  And  does  the  laird  know  that  Ian  and  you 
know?" 

"  No,  mem." 

Connie's  eyes  opened  a  little  wider. 

"And  you  won't  tell  me,"  came  in  the  most  de- 
licious tone  of  complaint.  "  I  thought  you  were  good 
enough  friends  with  me,  Alick,  to  tell  me  a  thing  that 
Ian  knows." 

Alick  looked  at  her,  recalling  an  axiom  of  Ian,  that 
a  woman's  secret  is  like  chaff  on  the  wind,  free  to  all. 

"  I  promised  not  to  tell,"  he  responded  stubbornly. 
"  Ian  made  me  swear  I'd  never  tell." 

"  And  you  never  break  your  word  ?  " 

"  No,  mem." 

"  If  you  were  to  make  a  promise  to  me,  let  us  say, 
you'd  keep  a  secret  from  Ian  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mem." 

165 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


She  looked  hard  into  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you  would,"  she  said.  "  You're 
not  a  saint,  but  you  haven't  learned  to  lie.  Well,  now, 
knowing  where  the  laird's  bank  is,  I  daresay  you  also 
know  how  to  get  at  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  mem,"  replied  Alick  promptly.  "  I 
found  out  the  place  for  myself." 

"  And  will  you  tell  me  how  you  found  it  out, 
Alick  ?  "  she  asked  caressingly. 

To  that,  being  outside  the  scope  of  his  oath,  he  had 
no  objection,  and  Connie  learned  that  the  laird's  bank 
was  in  the  hidden  fissure  of  a  great  rock  a  mile  above 
Craigenard. 

"  Perhaps  you  further  know  the  amount  ?  "  she 
smiled. 

"  Oh,  yes,  mem.  One  day,  when  the  laird  was 
away,  Ian  and  me  took  it  out  and  counted  it." 

"  And  what  happened  then  ?  " 

Her  face  was  keen  with  excitement,  and  Alick  an- 
swered as  if  fascinated — 

"  Well,  mem,  Ian  asked  me  if  I  had  any  money, 
and  I  said  yes,  I  had  a  little.  '  Very  well/  he  said, 
'  look  what  I  am  going  to  do,  and  if  you  want  to  see 
the  laird  back  in  Dunveagle  you'll  do  as  I  do/  and 
with  that  he  put  his  money  with  the  laird's,  and  I  did 
the  same." 

Connie's  eyes  were  shining. 

"  So  you  added  to  his  store.  And  how  much  did 
you  put  to  it  ?  " 

"  Ian  put  in  two  shillings  and  one  shilling,  and  I 
put  in  one  shilling  and  a  sixpence." 

"  And  have  you  added  any  since  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  mem.  We  got  six  months'  wages  not 
long  since,  and  put  in  the  half  of  it." 

"  Alick,"  said  Connie,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  "  I 
166 


CONNIE  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY 

want  you  to  promise  you'll  never  say  a  word  to  any- 
body about  telling  me  all  this,  to  Ian  or  to  anybody. 
You  promise  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mem ;  I'll  never  say  a  word  of  it  to  any  one 
but  to  you." 

"  Good !  Mind,  if  you  do,  something  terrible  will 
happen  to  you.  But  I  am  sure  I  can  trust  you.  What 
you  have  told  me  is  very  interesting,  and  I  want  to 
think  it  over." 

She  opened  her  purse  and  took  out  two  pieces  of 
gold. 

"  You'll  take  these — there,  now,  don't  trouble 
thanking  me.  Another  time  will  do,  and  then,  perhaps, 
if  you're  very  good,  Alick,  you  and  I  may  have  a  secret 
of  our  own." 

When  he  left  her  it  was  of  the  captain's  position 
she  was  thinking.  It  was  pathetic. 


167 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

\ 

THE   MAKING   OF   MILLIONS 

You  would  not  expect  the  railway  policy  of  the 
American  nation  to  be  moulded  in  a  remote  castle 
among  the  Scottish  hills.  But  as  the  seat  of  the  French 
Government  in  the  day  of  the  great  Emperor  was 
wherever  Napoleon  happened  to  be,  so  the  centre  of 
American  railway  organisation  moved  to  and  fro  under 
the  hat  of  Duncan  Ogilvie. 

On  the  morning  after  Connie's  confidential  talk 
with  Alick,  the  American  mail  was  the  heaviest  and 
most  important  that  had  ever  reached  Dunveagle. 
The  Atlantic  cable,  speaking  in  cypher,  kept  Mr.  Ogil- 
vie informed  of  the  fluctuations  of  events  in  the  place 
of  intrigue  and  tumult,  but  details  or  suggestions  from 
allies  and  lieutenants  were  reserved  for  the  post.  Thus 
it  came  on  mail  day  that,  save  for  the  pastoral  silence 
and  the  greater  purity  of  atmosphere,  the  millionaire 
and  his  two  secretaries  might  have  fancied  themselves 
in  Wall  Street. 

The  mass  of  correspondence  epitomised  and  di- 
gested, with  a  celerity  that  was  a  lesson  in  business 
methods,  the  scribes  were  dismissed  and  Messrs.  Shil- 
beck  and  Brash  summoned  to  a  cabinet  council.  A 
glance  as  they  entered  showed  that  the  master-mind 
was  working  intensely.  Mr.  Ogilvie's  holiday  face 
was  gone,  the  lines,  never  long  absent  from  the  face  of 
the  fighter,  were  insidiously  reappearing,  the  lips  were 
tight,  the  nerves  plainly  strung ;  in  a  word,  the  whole 

168 


THE  MAKING  OF  MILLIONS 

countenance  bore  the  keen,  set,  purposeful  expression 
which  belongs  to  him  whose  daily  business  it  is  to  meet 
and  overcome  difficulties.  In  such  a  face  the  student 
of  physiognomy  finds  at  once  a  record  and  a  stimulus ; 
and  without  in  the  least  knowing  the  fine  name  for  the 
art,  Messrs.  Shilbeck  and  Brash  were  both  experts. 

Mr.  Ogilvie  greeted  them  very  quietly  as  they 
entered.  His  manner  was  always  quiet  when  his  mind 
was  concentrated — so  quiet  that  a  stranger  or  a  fool 
who  mistakes  fussiness  for  energy  might  have  thought 
him  indifferent  But  Duncan  Ogilvie  was  never  indif- 
.ferent  in  business,  never  worked  but  with  all  his  forces 
well  in  hand  and  alert  for  attack  or  defence.  Insen- 
sibly the  minds  of  Shilbeck  and  Brash  responded  with 
a  bracing  quiver,  a  throb  of  deep-set  machinery  giv- 
ing the  first  purr.  But  they,  too,  were  cool ;  they,  too, 
knew  how  to  keep  a  serene  face  when  the  engines  be- 
neath were  going  full  pitch. 

"  Guess  we  may  smoke,"  said  Mr.  Shilbeck,  and, 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  clipped  a  cigar  end. 
Smoking  preserves  a  man  from  precipitation,  and  of 
all  things  Mr.  Shilbeck  looked  on  unconsidered  action 
as  the  consummation  of  folly.  Some  fool  dubbed  him 
"  Job  the  silent,"  but  his  associates  knew  that  his  si- 
lence was  a  great  deal  more  than  most  men's 
speech.  So  to  preserve  it,  he  said,  "  Guess  we  may 
smoke." 

"  We'll  all  smoke,"  responded  Mr.  Ogilvie,  and 
cigars  were  lighted.  But  a  minute  later  they  were  all 
dead,  save  Shilbeck's,  the  red  end  of  which  glimmered 
like  a  fiery  eye  keeping  watch.  For  the  stakes  were 
millions,  and  the  game  became  absorbing,  even  to 
hardened  players. 

With  that  brevity  in  which  every  word  is  worth 
thousands,  Mr.  Ogilvie  sketched  certain  prospective 
12  169 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


movements  in  New  York,  indicated  what  he  thought 
the  money  markets  would  bear  without  strain,  and 
what  they  wouldn't,  the  opposition  that  was  inevitable 
and  the  plans  for  crushing  it.  Into  five  minutes' 
speech  he  packed  the  essence  of  forty  years'  experience 
and  a  wisdom  above  price.  He  spoke  as  the  general 
who  completes  his  strategy  for  a  campaign,  but  keeps 
his  tactics  fluid  for  contingencies — a  general,  more- 
over, who  knows  precisely  where  his  adversary  is  vul- 
nerable, and  where  invulnerable,  where  to  strike  and 
how  to  strike.  He  never  made  the  mistake  of  under- 
rating opponents ;  that  error  is  the  child  of  ignorance 
and  conceit.  But,  having  weighed  and  resolved  as  far 
as  might  be,  he  thrust  difficulties  out  of  sight.  "  In 
counsel  it  is  good  to  see  dangers ;  but  in  execution  not 
to  see  them,  except  they  be  very  great."  My  Lord 
Verulam's  shrewd  truth  Mr.  Ogilvie  discovered  for 
himself  and  took  to  heart. 

Shilbeck  and  Brash  listened  without  a  word,  but 
before  he  was  half  done,  the  latter  was  chewing  his 
cigar  as  for  a  wager.  His  eyes  shone,  his  sallow  face 
was  flushed,  for  Mr.  Brash's  prophet  eye  spied  unlim- 
ited spoil. 

"  That's  ripping,"  he  cried,  when  Mr.  Ogilvie  had 
finished.  "  Yes,  sir,  I  guess  that'll  just  make  Noo 
York  sit  up  and  scratch  its  head." 

"  It'll  be  something  for  our  friends  of  the  financial 
press  to  drivel  over,"  smiled  Mr.  Ogilvie. 

He  had  but  a  poor  opinion  of  the  financial  jour- 
nalist, who  he  said  is  always  sapiently  foolish  before 
and  portentously  wise  after  the  event. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Mr.  Brash  confirmed ;  "  guess  the 
goose  will  cackle  this  time." 

Mr.  Shilbeck  took  the  cigar  from  his  mouth,  rose 
with  marked  deliberation,  kicked  the  spittoon  into 

170 


THE  MAKING  OF  MILLIONS 

position,  and  thoughtfully  expectorated.  All  that 
accomplished  with  becoming  dignity,  he  sat  down 
again. 

"  Yes,"  he  assented,  making  himself  comfortable 
once  more ;  "  reckon  the  goose  will  cackle  all  right." 

He  began  to  smoke  again,  his  long  countenance  as 
expressionless  as  a  sleeping  elephant's.  But  Mr.  Shil- 
beck  was  far,  very  far  from  being  asleep. 

"  Reckon  Giles  Dunbar  has  something  to  say,"  he 
remarked,  stretching  his  legs,  and  blowing  a  long 
whiff.  "  May  as  well  tell  us  what  it  is." 

Mr.  Ogilvie  read  a  confidential  letter  from  Mr. 
Dunbar,  and  Mr.  Shilbeck  gazed  upward  with  rapt 
eyes,  as  if  absorbed  with  pictures  on  the  ceiling. 

"  You  see,  he's  confident  of  everything  but  Con- 
gress," commented  Mr.  Ogilvie. 

Mr.  Shilbeck  rose  again,  slid  the  spittoon  along  a 
yard  with  his  foot,  again  expectorated  with  the  same 
thoughtfulness,  and  again  sat  down. 

"  Just  so,"  he  said,  emitting  a  thin  blue  streak. 
"  Just  so.  He  ain't  the  first  man  that's  been  uncertain 
in  his  own  mind  'bout  Congress.  No,  sir.  Congress 
don't  exactly  lay  itself  out  to  make  men  easy  in  their 
minds.  No,  sir,  it  ain't  that  style.  Congress  is  a  pretty 
ticklish  bucking  mustang  sort  of  an  animal  to  ride, 
pretty  ticklish.  Bucks  like  Ole  Nick  just  when  you 
don't  expect  it.  Talk  of  bronchos !  I  tell  ye  a  bron- 
cho's a  suckin'  dove  beside  Congress.  Yes,  sir,  an 
innocent  lamb,  that  ain't  got  no  thought  but  to  be 
meek,  and  please,  and  cuddle  up,  and  be  made  into 
cutlets." 

"  You're  the  man  to  ride  the  mustang,"  said  Brash 
admiringly. 

"  Well,"  admitted  Job  modestly,  "  I  have  been  on 
it  when  it  bucked  pretty  bad.  Only  in  a  case  of  this 

171 


A  SON   OF  GAD 


kind  the  thing  bucks  wuss  because  the  other  side's 
always  puttin'  ginger  under  its  tail.  There's  been  a 
heap  of  ginger  put  under  that  unfortunate  animal's 
tail." 

He  was  not  going  to  admit  that  lobbying  is  an  easy 
art.  To  have  done  that  would  be  an  act  of  self-deroga- 
tion, and  self-derogation  does  not  pay.  Besides,  the 
opposition  had  money,  and  Congress  men  unhappily 
were  extremely  human.  It  was  on  this  point  that  Mr. 
Shilbeck  made  the  record  speech  of  his  life. 

"  It's  like  this,"  he  said  gravely.  "  You  look  up  the 
Constitootion,  read  about  Congress,  and  feel  happy. 
Congress  is  an  institootion  to  be  proud  of.  To  this 
day,  sir,  Congress  begins  biz  with  prayer  and  all  that. 
It's  just  beautiful  to  hear  the  parson  slingin'  off  and 
askin'  for  a  blessin'  on  their  deliberations.  No  better 
intentions  in  the  world ;  ye'd  just  think  it  was  a  sort  of 
pan-millennial  meetin'  till  they  begin  to  hustle  round, 
and  then,  holy  Father  Abraham,  the  saints  that  signed 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  must  squirm  in  the 
grave.  Those  that  are  runnin'  for  offices  and  want 
boomin'  in  the  noospapers  make  speeches,  but  they 
don't  count.  For  ye  see  the  speeches  are  meant  for 
editors  lookin'  out  for  something  spicy  and  strong  to 
write  about,  for  party  managers,  foreign  correspon- 
dents, country  people  and  such." 

"  Not  for  Congress,"  said  Brash. 

"  No,  sir,  not  for  Congress.  Congress  don't  give  a 
continental  for  speeches.  Congress  keeps  one  eye  on 
this,"  and  Mr.  Shilbeck  facetiously  slapped  his  right- 
hand  breeches  pocket,  "  the  other  bein'  for  public 
opinion.  Pocket  and  public  opinion,  that's  the  shrines 
that  Congress  worships  at.  You  may  go  to  Congress 
and  orate  like  an  angel,  but  ye  don't  get  no  votes  on 
that  plan.  No,  siree.  Eloquence  is  a  fine  thing  to  talk 

172 


THE  MAKING   OF  MILLIONS 

about  and  put  in  school-books,  and  mention  in  noos- 
papers  and  on  tombstones,  but  it  don't  count." 

"  What  of  such  men  as  Jim  Blaine,  and  Webster, 
and  Clay  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Ogilvie. 

"  I  ain't  denying  that  a  fust-class  orator's  useful  to 
stump  the  country,"  Mr.  Shilbeck  returned.  "  He 
gets  votes  up  and  down  'bout  'lection  time.  But  he 
don't  count  in  Congress,  and  he  don't  get  into  the 
White  House.  Your  ora-tors  don't  become  presidents. 
Jim  Blaine  didn't,  and  Webster  didn't,  and  Clay  didn't. 
As  to  Congress,  the  real  work's  done  in  the  lobby. 
When  a  man  sits  down  at  his  desk  he  knows  how  he's 
goin'  to  vote,  and  he  writes  letters  instead  of  listenin' 
to  speeches.  He  don't  want  'em." 

"  We're  lucky  in  having  a  good  man  for  the  lobby, 
then,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  remarked  amiably.  "  We'll  rely 
on  you." 

Mr.  Shilbeck  took  a  fresh  cigar  and  lighted  it. 

"  When  my  friends  act  on  the  square,"  he  replied, 
"  I  reckon  they'll  find  me  actin'  on  the  square  too." 

It  was  all  that  was  needed,  and  the  council  turned 
to  other  business. 

In  the  end  it  was  decided  that  Mr.  Brash  should 
take  the  next  steamer  from  Liverpool  to  New  York. 
Mr.  Ogilvie's  judgment  said  he  ought  to  go  himself, 
because  the  scheme  was  big,  and  the  developments 
were  likely  to  be  rapid  and  intricate,  and  he  still  had 
most  faith  in  his  own  head.  But  he  had  promised  his 
mother  and  daughter  to  remain  at  Dunveagle  for  the 
summer,  and  on  the  basis  of  that  promise  made  his  ar- 
rangements. The  consequences  were  to  be  such  as 
even  his  sagacity  could  not  foresee. 


173 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  MOMENTOUS   INTERVIEW 

ON  leaving  the  council  chamber  they  found  Con- 
nie, with  Captain  MacLean  and  Jeff,  coming  down  the 
massive  stone  stair  after  a  visit  of  ceremony  to  the 
laird.  For  the  tenth  time  Jeff  had  been  making  apol- 
ogies for  his  evil  deeds,  and  for  the  tenth  time  the  laird 
declined  to  accept  them. 

"  I  will  allow  no  man  to  apologise  for  my  own  crass 
stupidity,"  he  declared.  "  The  fault  was  mine,  not 
yours  at  all." 

"  I  ought  to  have  known  that  the  horses  in  the 
Highlands  might  be  scared  by  motors,  sir,"  returned 
Jeff  in  sturdy  politeness. 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  even  an  American  is  ex- 
pected to  be  omniscient,"  was  the  response.  "  As  the 
Oxford  professor  remarked,  the  youngest  and  wisest  of 
us-  cannot  know  everything.  My  mind  on  the  matter, 
sir,  is  this,  that  men  in  the  Highlands  or  anywhere  else 
ought  to  be  able  to  take  care  of  themselves.  Once  in 
this  quarter  they  were." 

"  That  was  in  the  good  old  times,  Mr.  MacLean," 
put  in  Connie,  "  when  that  sword  you  showed  me  was 
in  the  way  of  work,  and  Montrose  honoured  Dun- 
veagle." 

He  turned  on  her  the  eager,  kindled  face  of  a  child. 

"  Please  tell  Mr.  Dunbar  that,"  she  said,  with  the 
174 


A  MOMENTOUS  INTERVIEW 

engaging  authority  which  made  her  irresistible.  Half 
unconsciously  she  adjusted  the  coverlet,  and  the  min- 
istration of  tender  feminine  fingers  brought  to  the 
laird,  as  with  a  sough  from  the  past,  the  memory  of 
other  years.  Ah,  God !  what  he  had  loved  and  lost  in 
his  hard,  solitary,  fighting  life.  Well,  thanks  be  to 
Heaven,  he,  even  he,  had  tasted  of  its  best  long  cen- 
turies ago,  when  the  white  hair  was  brown,  and  the 
lined  face  was  smooth,  and  the  strong  heart  uncon- 
querable. And  the  bliss  he  had  known,  a  fleeting  hour 
of  Paradise,  this  fair,  smiling  creature  would  doubt- 
less bring  to  another.  The  touch  of  those  delicate 
hands  would  soothe  the  favoured  one  like  an  anodyne 
when  he  was  vexed  or  fevered,  those  fine  eyes  would 
melt  upon  him  in  fondness,  that  voice  would  caress  to 
peace  and  happiness.  The  laird  almost  forgot  she  was 
an  Ogilvie. 

She  repeated  her  request,  and  he  began  to  tell  the 
story  of  Montrose  and  the  sword.  To  Connie's  horror 
Jeff  laughed,  making  derisive  remarks  on  barbarism 
and  obsolete  methods  of  war,  and  with  a  flushed,  half- 
indignant  face  she  whipped  Him  away,  lest  the  patient 
should  be  wroth. 

"  I  must  instruct  Jeff  in  these  things,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "  He  doesn't  understand."  And  she  was  dis- 
posed to  be  offended  because  Jeff  was  an  American 
out  and  out,  because  he  loved  the  smart  and  up-to- 
date,  and  lacked  taste  for  the  pageantry  of  history. 

Linnie,  who  had  been  keeping  Kitty  in  amusement, 
marked  her  passing  out  with  the  captain,  her  face  ex- 
traordinarily bright,  and  a  vehement  jealousy  seized 
him.  "  That  fellow  again,"  he  thought  viciously. 
"  Curse  and  confound  him.  This  is  no  better  than  the 
return  of  the  whole  MacLean  tribe  to  Dunveagle.  I 
wonder  Ogilvie  tolerates  them." 

175 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


But  the  first  words  he  addressed  to  Connie  were  a 
polite  inquiry  for  her  patient.  "  He's  doing  splen- 
didly," she  answered,  with  an  interest  which  almost 
gave  Mr.  Linnie  jaundice.  "  Come,  let's  have  a  walk 
round  the  garden,"  she  added,  linking  her  arm  in 
Kitty's. 

To  prevent  Captain  MacLean's  presumptions,  he 
contrived  to  accompany  them.  Connie  was  in  her  most 
playful,  which  is  to  say  her  most  dangerous,  mood. 
That  mood  of  light  mischief  was  somehow  never 
adopted  towards  Captain  MacLean.  With  him,  in- 
deed, as  with  most  others,  her  merriment  bubbled  like 
a  fountain,  yet  in  his  presence  her  gayest  laughter  had 
an  undertone  of  seriousness.  Perhaps  it  came  of  ad- 
miration, for  a  woman  is  incapable  of  frivolity  when  in 
her  inmost  soul  she  admires ;  perhaps  of  pity,  perhaps 
of  something  else,  some  budding  instinct  which  she 
but  vaguely  understood  herself.  In  any  case,  the  in- 
dubitable fact  was  that  while  she  could  banter  and 
tease  Rollo  and  Jeff  almost  to  the  verge  of  cruelty,  she 
was  conscious  of  an  odd  underlying  restraint  in  the 
company  of  Captain  MacLean. 

Accepting  her  whimsicality  as  an  unexpectedly 
good  omen,  Rollo  set  himself  to  play  in  his  best  style ; 
and  in  such  a  game  Mr.  Linnie's  gifts  were  not  con- 
temptible. Kitty  was,  of  course,  included  in  his  gal- 
lantries as  second  best  stake  in  case  the  plans  for  the 
first  should  miscarry.  As  "  the  mouse  that  trusts  to 
one  poor  hole  can  never  be  a  mouse  of  any  soul,"  so 
the  hunter  ambitious  to  bag  an  heiress  will  certainly 
have  more  than  one  barrel  to  his  gun.  Of  the  two, 
Miss  Ogilvie  had  the  greater  attraction ;  but  Kitty's 
charms  were  unquestionably  worth  a  prudent  man's 
attention.  Besides,  it  might  not  be  at  all  an  ill  stroke 
of  policy  to  make  the  Dunveagle  heiress  conscious  of 


A  MOMENTOUS  INTEKVIEW 

a  rival.  Luckily  for  his  schemes,  he  had  them  to  him- 
self. Jeff  kept  them  company  for  a  little,  but  having 
warmer  interests  elsewhere,  he  betook  himself  to  the 
stables,  where,  to  his  infinite  diversion,  he  forgathered 
with  Ian  Veg.  Brash  was  packing  for  the  voyage 
home.  Mr.  Shilbeck  was  engaged  on  mandates  to  his 
many  captains  and  subalterns  beyond  the  Atlantic,  and 
Mr.  Ogilvie  and  Norman  were  smoking  by  themselves 
under  a  great  beech. 

To  these  two  the  situation  might  have  been  embar- 
rassing, since  the  feelings  of  dispossessed  and  dispos- 
sessor  are  not  usually  concordant;  and,  indeed,  on 
thus  finding  themselves  for  the  first  time  alone,  the 
sense  of  constraint  was  for  a  moment  oppressive. 

But  throw  two  reasonable,  courteous,  catholic- 
minded  men  of  the  world  together,  and  were  they 
sworn  foes  they  will  discover  common  ground.  Here, 
moreover,  the  elements  of  personal  antagonism  were 
eliminated.  From  Mr.  Ogilvie's  eyes  the  scales  of  il- 
lusion and  prejudice  had  long  since  fallen.  Knowing 
its  frailty,  he  did  not  count  too  much  on  friendship,  nor 
trouble  with  enmity,  knowing  its  foolishness.  "  To 
cherish  hatred  for  others,"  he  had  said,  "  is  only  to 
keep  your  own  sores  open.  Men  are  neither  angels 
nor  fiends,  but  weak,  unstable  things  engaged  in  a  ter- 
rific struggle  for  existence.  What  they  would  they  do 
not,  what  they  would  not  they  do.  In  the  stress  of 
circumstances  motives  and  intentions  change.  There- 
fore it  is  best  to  take  the  friend  of  to-day  as  if  an  ad- 
verse wind  might,  against  his  will,  make  him  an  enemy 
to-morrow :  and  an  enemy  as  if  to-morrow  would  make 
him  a  friend." 

Therefore,  he  never  thought  it  worth  his  while 
either  to  gush  or  to  plan  revenge.  The  Master- 
Dramatist  makes  folly  of  both. 

177 


A  SON  OP  GAD 


The  captain  too  had  been  up  and  down  the  world, 
learning  under  the  sternest  and  best  of  schoolmasters, 
and  had  returned,  bringing  a  practical  philosophy.  He 
found  a  stranger  in  Dunveagle,  but  knew  that  stranger 
was  as  little  responsible  for  his  own  misfortunes  as 
were  the  stars  in  the  midnight  sky.  He  could  sit  on  a 
bench  beside  the  new  lord  of  Dunveagle  without  any 
itching  to  cut  his  throat,  nay,  even  with  something  of 
the  spirit  of  comradeship.  The  man  had  succeeded 
magnificently  where  others  had  failed,  but  why  hate 
him? 

On  the  other  hand,  the  lucky  one,  realising  that 
fortune  is  a  jade  and  a  gamester,  was  not  in  the  least 
disposed  to  plume  himself  on  her  favours.  But  he  was 
disposed  to  admire  the  grit  of  the  man  who  could  sit  in 
the  midst  of  possessions  which  had  once  been  his  own 
without  a  sign  of  resentment  because  they  had  passed 
to  another.  "  That's  strength  of  character,"  he  re- 
marked mentally,  "  and  the  world  is  built  on  charac- 
ter." 

A  chance  reference  to  Brash's  departure  suggested 
stocks  and  railways,  and  next  minute  Mr.  Ogilvie  had 
broken  his  own  rule  of  never  talking  finances  except  to 
financiers. 

"  It  must  be  very  interesting,  sir,"  Norman  re- 
marked, "  particularly  when  one  is  successful." 

"  You  think  so,"  responded  the  millionaire. 
"  Well,  yes,  like  everything  that  is  uncertain,  it  has  its 
spice  of  excitement.  But  I'm  not  at  all  sure  what  the 
wise  man  would  say  of  it.  You  have  been  in  some  hot 
spots,  Captain  MacLean,  and  know  better  than  I  can 
tell  you  how  the  luckiest  of  us  scrapes  through  by  the 
skin  of  his  teeth." 

"  That,  sir,  is  certainly  the  case  so  far  as  any  mil- 
itary success  worth  counting  is  concerned." 

178 


A  MOMENTOUS  INTERVIEW 

"  So  far  as  any  considerable  success  is  concerned. 
I  daresay  you  know  what  it  is  to  stand  alone  in  the 
fight,  thinking  all  was  lost  when  luck  came  to  the 
rescue.  At  any  rate,  I  know." 

"  The  chances  with  you,  sir,  are  many,"  rejoined 
Norman.  "  If  you  are  down  to-day  you  are  up  again 
to-morrow.  The  army  is  niggard  of  chances." 

"  And  you  think  our  chances  are  good.  Well,  I 
believe  it's  a  common  fallacy  to  imagine  that  others 
have  opportunities  denied  to  ourselves.  I  fancy,  how- 
ever, analysis  would  show  that  opportunities  are  pretty 
evenly  distributed.  I  used  to  think  that  no  business  or 
profession  on  earth  had  as  many  natural  and  acquired 
difficulties  and  obstructions  as  railway  finance.  I 
know  now  that  these  are  rife  in  all  callings.  With  us 
the  failures  are  about  99^  per  cent. ;  in  other  words, 
our  successes  average  something  like  an  eighth  of  one 
per  cent.  If  the  risks  of  such  a  margin  were  known, 
do  you  think  any  prudent  man  would  face  them?  He 
would  either  be  a  hero  or  a  fool  if  he  did,  and  yet,  as 
I  need  not  tell  Captain  MacLean,  it  is  the  risk  lightly 
taken,  the  forlorn  hope  driven  home,  that  tells." 

"  The  old  proverb,  sir,  of  faint  heart  never  winning 
fair  lady,"  said  Norman. 

"  Precisely.  Your  armchair  philosopher  says  that 
the  man  who  attempts  the  impossible  is  an  ass  fore- 
doomed to  failure;  but  who  is  to  discover  whether  a 
thing  be  possible  or  not  until  it  is  tried  ?  One  thing  is 
certain,  that  the  man  who  is  always  calculating  risks 
may  as  well  give  up  at  once.  If  you  look  at  it  closely, 
this  world  is  all  risks.  Any  night  we  may  be  killed  in 
our  beds  by  an  earthquake  or  a  falling  star.  What  was 
the  matter  with  Hamlet,  think  you?  Want  of  brain- 
power ?  He  is  the  brainiest  of  all  Shakespeare's  char- 
acters, and  most  of  them  had  brain  enough  and  to 

179 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


spare.  What  he  lacked  was  not  head,  but  backbone  ; 
and  I  tell  you  there  are  more  futile  Hamlets  going 
round  than  a  good  arithmetician  could  count.  Well, 
sir,  a  man  with  us  goes  in  knowing  that  the  odds  are 
99!  per  cent,  against  him.  Heartening,  isn't  it?  Yet 
the  strewn  wrecks  are  no  deterrent.  The  crowds  are 
just  as  eager,  just  as  confident  as  if  the  percentage  were 
reversed." 

"  They  know  success  is  splendid  when  it  comes," 
said  Norman. 

Mr.  Ogilvie  looked  at  him  curiously,  with  eyes 
bright  and  contracted  as  by  opium. 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  financier,  "  I'm  not  hypocrite 
enough  to  say  there  are  not  gratifications  in  success, 
especially  if  you've  fought  hard  for  it.  There  is;  hu- 
man nature  says  there  is,  and  human  nature  never  lies. 
The  man  who  goes  in,  taking  his  happiness  and  all  his 
worldly  goods  in  his  hand,  fights  on  a  margin  of  an 
eighth  of  one  per  cent.,  and  wins  has  a  satisfaction 
which  your  Hamlet  could  never  enjoy  were  he  to  live 
to  the  Day  of  Judgment.  Does  anyone  think  that 
Napoleon  was  not  intoxicated  with  joy  after  Auster- 
litz,  Wellington  after  Waterloo,  Sherman  after  Sa- 
vannah, Grant  after  Richmond?  Do  you  think  Jay 
Gould  wasn't  elated  when  he  found  himself  master  of 
the  New  York  Stock  Exchange,  or  Ben  Disraeli  the 
Jew,  when  he  sent  the  fleet  of  Christian  England 
against  the  hereditary  foes  of  his  race?  They  may 
have  walked  steadily  and  talked  rationally,  but  they 
were  drunk  all  the  same.  Yes,  success  is  sweet,  always 
has  been,  always  will  be." 

"  A  safe  affirmation,  sir,"  Norman  remarked. 

"  The  only  question  is,"  pursued  Mr.  Ogilvie  in  a 
changed  tone,  "  how  long  does  the  sweetness  last?  As 
one  of  our  American  poets  says — 

180 


A  MOMENTOUS  INTERVIEW 

"  •  E'en  if  won,  what's  the  good  of  life's  medals  and  prizes  ? 
The  rapture's  in  what  never  was  or  is  gone. 

Ay,  our  beloved  Autocrat  was  right  there." 

He  smoked  a  moment  in  silence,  and  then  inclin- 
ing towards  his  companion  spoke  as  he  had  never 
spoken  to  an  outsider  before. 

"  Captain  MacLean,"  he  said  genially,  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  tell  you  something  on  the  condition  that  it  is 
taken  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  given.  You  know 
affairs  well  enough  to  understand  that  in  all  big  busi- 
ness concerns  there  are  rings  and  inner  rings.  In 
politics,  for  example,  there  is  the  Cabinet  visible  to  all 
eyes ;  there  is  also  the  inner  Cabinet  known  only  to  the 
few.  The  Cabinet,  as  a  whole,  has  its  uses,  depart- 
mental and  so  forth,  but  the  inner  Cabinet  constitutes 
the  real  power,  shapes  policy,  declares  war,  makes 
terms  of  peace,  arranges  indemnities.  It  is  exactly  the 
same  in  finance.  You  have  your  Exchanges  quoting 
to  all  the  world ;  but  the  motive  power  is  hidden  be- 
hind, and  three-fourths  of  the  members  are  the  merest 
puppets,  however  they  may  plume  themselves  on  their 
cleverness  and  influence.  In  New  York  there  are  per- 
haps a  dozen  financiers  of  real  power,  men  who  inau- 
gurate big  schemes,  who  lead  where  the  crowd  must 
follow.  In  London  there  are  hardly  more.  The  rest 
don't  count,  as  we  say.  And  I  happen  to  have  been 
able  to  push  my  way  into  the  inner  ring  on  our  side ; 
and  that  ring  when  it  takes  concerted  action  can  bring 
about  results  as  certainly  as  you  can  solve  a  mathe- 
matical poblem."  , 

He  glanced  round  lest  idle  ears  should  be  listen- 
ing. 

"  Naturally,"  he  went  on,  "  it  keeps  its  own  coun- 
sel. Hints  and  rumours  do  indeed  get  out  as  if  the 

181 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


air  carried  news  like  an  infection.  But  only  those  with- 
in really  know  what  is  going  on.  And  now  I  come  to 
the  point.  Within  three  months  press  and  bucket 
shops  will  be  babbling  of  certain  movements  on  the 
New  York  Stock  Exchange  which  will  have  strong 
support  from  London  ;  and  I  think,  Captain  MacLean, 
if  you  care  to  take  a  hand  you  will  have  no  cause  for 
regret — provided  you  come  in  and  go  out  as  directed." 

An  expression  of  surprise  and  hesitancy  came  into 
Norman's  face ;  then  the  colour  surged  over  cheek  and 
brow ;  for,  with  the  sole  intention  to  benefit,  Mr.  Ogil- 
vie  had  done  an  exceedingly  cruel  thing. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  sir,  how  much  I  feel  indebted 
to  you,"  he  responded,  "  but  I  have  really  no  knowl- 
edge whatever  of  such  things." 

Mr.  Ogilvie  laughed  lightly. 

"  As  to  that,  I'll  tell  you  a  little  secret,"  he  said, 
mistaking  the  momentary  confusion  of  the  other.  "  In 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  when  outsiders  come  in,  it's  the 
man  of  blessed  ignorance  who  wins.  You  open  your 
eyes,  but  there's  no  cause  for  amazement.  To  the 
mass,  speculations  on  'Change  are  a  pure  gamble. 
Even  the  broker  who  buys  and  sells  for  the  inner  ring 
seldom  knows  the  reasons  for  his  instructions.  And 
that  is  why  so  many  of  them  get  left,  to  use  an  expres- 
sive Wall  Street  phrase.  If  the  expert  misses,  what  is 
likely  to  be  the  fate  of  a  pure  outsider  ?  Disaster,  you 
say,  and  nine  times  in  ten  you'd  be  right.  But  the 
tenth  man  has  luck  and  wins,  never  knowing  how  or 
why.  The  world  is  full  of  anomalies.  Lawyers,  who 
are  all  their  lives  making  other  people's  wills,  spoil 
their  own;  doctors  neglect  their  own  health,  shoe- 
makers are  ill  shod,  bankers  make  bad  investments  for 
themselves.  You  catch  my  drift  ?  " 

"  I  infer,  sir,  and  am  grateful  for  the  inference,  that 
182 


A  MOMENTOUS  INTERVIEW 

my  ignorance  would  not  be  allowed  to  stand  against 
me,"  Norman  returned. 

Mr.  Ogilvie  bowed. 

"  But,"  continued  Norman  warmly,  "  I  could  not 
think  of  troubling  one  whose  hands  are  already  full." 

But  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart  Mr.  Ogilvie  seemed 
bent  on  pushing  matters  to  extremity. 

"  Pray,  don't  think  of  trouble,"  he  rejoined  quickly. 
"  It  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  do  for  you  what  I 
hope  to  do  for  myself." 

They  were  interrupted  by  Connie,  who  brought  a 
letter  for  the  captain,  saying  that  Alick,  the  original 
messenger,  was  turned  over  to  the  housekeeper  for  re- 
fection. 

"  And  where  are  the  others  ?  "  her  father  asked. 

"  Jeff  is  somewhere  with  his  motor,"  she  answered, 
"  and  Mr.  Linnie  is  giving  Kitty  a  lecture  on  the  geo- 
logical formation  of  the  Dunveagle  hills.  You  are 
both  as  grave  as  church  deacons  on  election  night; 
what's  under  consideration  ?  " 

"  Things  that  young  ladies  don't  in  the  least  under- 
stand," replied  her  father. 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  she  cried.  "  I  never  knew  any- 
one, papa  dear,  who  can  match  you  for  politeness  when 
you're  in  a  complimentary  mood.  Perhaps  Captain 
MacLean  has  a  better  opinion  of  our  intelligence." 

She  turned  so  witching  a  face  to  Norman  that  if  he 
had  had  the  secrets  of  the  world  they  were  hers  for 
the  asking. 


183 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

A  TEST   OF   LOYALTY 

SHE  lingered  but  a  moment,  however,  going  so 
abruptly  Norman  thought  he  must  have  offended  her. 
With  that  fear  tormenting  him  he  took  leave  of  Mr. 
Ogilvie,  and,  having  business  with  his  father  arising 
out  of  the  letter,  went  alone  to  the  laird's  room.  The 
simple  business  done,  the  laird  asked  what  his  son 
had  been  doing  for  some  hours. 

"  Chatting  with  Mr.  Ogilvie,"  Norman  answered 
indifferently. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  laird  in  surprise ;  "  and  what,  if  it's 
a  fair  question,  did  you  find  to  chat  about  ?  " 

Norman  laughed,  but  not  very  heartily. 

"  Various  things,  father,"  he  replied ;  "  but  the  chief 
thing  was  counsel  to  a  penniless  man  to  go  to  a  baker's 
and  buy  himself  bread  while  it  is  cheap." 

Tha  laird  hitched  himself  up  in  bed  like  a  wounded 
war-horse  rousing  at  the  sound  of  the  trumpet. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Counselling  a 
penniless  man  to  go  to  the  baker's  and  buy  bread,  did 
you  say?  I'm  no  hand  at  riddles;  have  the  goodness 
to  speak  plainly." 

"  Then  to  put  a  simple  fact  simply,"  responded 
Norman,  "  he  was  good  enough  to  mention  a  coming 
movement  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  to  advise  me 
to  take  advantage  of  it,  as  if  one  should  shout  to  a 

184 


A  TEST  OF  LOYALTY 


drowning  man  to  provide  himself  with  a  lifebelt.  The 
satire  of  the  thing  is  delicious." 

"  Did  he  mean  to  be  satirical  ?  "  asked  the  laird, 
scenting  for  offence. 

"  Quite  the  contrary,  sir ;  quite  the  contrary,"  Nor- 
man replied  with  emphasis.  "  The  proposal  was  made 
in  pure  generosity  and  goodwill." 

"  Umph !  "  the  laird  interjected. 

"  The  satire  was  quite  unconscious,"  Norman  went 
on,  "  though  perhaps  the  keener  edged  on  that  ac- 
count. In  the  goodness  of  his  heart  Mr.  Ogilvie 
wanted  to  give  me  a  chance  of  making  a  little 
money." 

"  Of  making  money,"  repeated  the  laird,  as  if  trying 
the  words  like  suspects.  "  What  of  the  alternative  ? 
Any  notion  of  fleecing?  " 

"  We  must  be  fair,"  said  Norman.  "  Mr.  Ogilvie's 
sole  idea  was  to  benefit  me." 

"  You  are  convinced  of  that  ?  " 

"  Absolutely." 

"  Ah,  well !  "  as  in  disappointment.  "  And  what 
did  you  say  ?  " 

"  What  could  I  say  ?  I  thanked  him,  saying  that  I 
had  no  knowledge  of  such  operations.  His  reply  was 
that  knowledge  isn't  necessary.  It  seems  that  on  the 
Stock  Exchange  men  make  fortunes  on  the  prin- 
ciple of  luck.  It's  a  sort  of  glorified  Monte  Carlo, 
where  you  play  against  tremendous  odds  and  win 
with  your  eyes  shut.  But  as  Mr.  Ogilvie  himself 
was  to  look  after  my  little  speculation  I'd  of  course 
win." 

"And  had  you  no  inclination  to  take  him  at  his 
word?" 

"  In  the  army,  sir,  we  are  taught  to  repress  inclina- 
tion when  ways  and  means  are  doubtful  or  non-exist- 
13  185 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


ent.  I  think  that  on  the  whole  the  best  plan  is  for  the 
penniless  man  to  avoid  the  temptation  of  the  baker's 
shop.  I  have  no  money  to  risk." 

"And  if  you  had?" 

The  laird's  eyes  were  gleaming. 

"  An  '  if '  is  an  awkward  stile  to  get  over,"  laughed 
Norman.  "  Mr.  Ogilvie,  I  remember,  spoke  of  the 
thing  as  a  certainty.  It's  certain  the  sun  and  the  moon 
and  the  stars  are  overhead,  but  we  can't  put  them  in 
our  pockets.  But  I  must  be  off.  You  are  comfort- 
able, father?" 

"  Quite  comfortable,  thank  you,  quite.  If  I  were 
at  home  I  could  not  be  more  considered  or  better  at- 
tended, possibly  not  so  well.  You'll  see  to  things  at 
Craigenard,  Norman.  It's  a  sore  trial  to  be  on  one's 
back  like  this." 

Left  to  himself,  the  laird  fell  feverishly  to  thinking. 
The  reference  just  made  to  money  was  the  first  that 
had  passed  Norman's  lips  since  his  home-coming,  and 
the  tone  was  unmistakable.  Like  a  strong  man,  he 
might  put  a  bridle  on  his  tongue,  but  a  chance  move- 
ment revealed  the  cankering  sore.  In  a  throbbing  heat 
the  laird  went  over  his  own  experiences.  Heavens! 
what  he  had  suffered  from  want  of  money.  So-called 
preachers  and  moralists  babbled  about  the  evil  of 
wealth  and  the  blessings  of  poverty.  Bah !  the  evil  of 
wealth  was  in  lacking  it;  the  blessing  of  poverty  in 
being  without  it;  and  the  man  who  said  otherwise, 
though  he  seemed  to  speak  with  pentecostal  tongue, 
was  a  liar  and  a  humbug.  All  men,  he  told  himself, 
in  their  hearts  desire  riches,  the  priest  as  much  as  the 
publican,  perhaps  more;  the  noble  as  well  as  the 
pauper.  One  standard  ruled  the  world.  Even  salva- 
tion was  a  matter  of  L.  S.  D.,  since  the  Church  herself 
declared  in  practice  that  one  rich  man's  soul  is  worth 

186 


A  TEST  OF  LOYALTY 


a  gross  of  the  souls  of  poor  men.  Money  is  king  of  the 
modern  world.  The  laird  did  not  reason  thus  without 
cause.  He  had  tasted  the  blessing  of  poverty,  and 
found  it  bitterer  than  aloes ;  and  the  one  soul  he  cher- 
ished and  loved  more  than  his  own  was  finding  it  bitter 
also.  Norman  would  not  complain,  but  that  did  not 
make  the  great  curse  the  lighter. 

Well,  what  if  he  were  able  to  take  advantage  of  this 
offer  ?  The  notion  of  being  indebted  to  an  Ogilvie  was 
in  itself  almost  as  a  draught  of  poison ;  but  yet  worse 
was  the  notion  of  that  penniless  man  going  to  buy 
bread.  All  at  once  the  laird  sat  up  with  a  jerk  and 
pulled  the  bell. 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  Captain  Mac- 
Lean  I  should  like  to  speak  to  him  ?  "  he  said  to  the 
attendant  who  answered.  But  Captain  MacLean  had 
gone  off  with  Mr.  Dunbar  in  his  motor  (at  Miss  Ogil- 
vie's  suggestion,  as  it  afterwards  appeared),  and  Ian 
Veg  was  sent  for.  Ian  came  hot  foot  from  an  argu- 
ment with  the  nigger  coachman  in  the  stable,  his  tousle 
of  grey  hair  over  his  forehead,  his  eyes  still  smoulder- 
ing. 

"  Fighting  again,  Ian  Veg?  "  asked  the  laird. 

Ian  swept  back  the  rebellious  hair. 

"  Nearly,  sir,"  he  answered. 

"  So  I  judged.  One  would  think  that  at  your  time 
of  life  you'd  be  giving  over  fighting ;  but  with  some  of 
us  it's  the  older  the  worse,  like  the  fox's  whelp.  What 
were  you  meaning  to  fight  about  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  that  black  man  in  the  stable  took  it 
upon  him  to  miscall  the  Scotch." 

"  And  naturally  you  wanted  to  fight  him.  You 
grow  older,  Ian;  I'm  not  sure  you  grow  any  wiser. 
He's  twice  your  weight." 

"  Overfed,  sir,"  said  Ian  contemptuously.  "  No 
187 


A  SON   OF   GAD 


wind.    A  touch  on  the  stomach,  and  the  rest  would  be 
easy." 

"  They  hang  white  men  for  killing  black,  Ian.  I 
didn't  bring  you  to  Dunveagle  to  knock  my  host's  serv- 
ants about.  How  is  it  every  bantam  cock  must  be 
fighting?" 

"  Natir,  I  suppose,  sir,"  answered  Ian  drily. 

"  There  never  was  a  lawbreaker  but  he  had  some 
excuse,"  retorted  the  laird.  "  However,  it  wasn't  to 
discuss  your  fighting  qualities  I  sent  for  you  now,  Ian. 
Just  see  that  the  door  is  tight.  That's  it.  Ian,  have 
you  anything  against  me — anything  that  can  be  put 
right  while  there's  time  ?  " 

Ian  gazed  a  second  as  if  smitten  with  sudden  fear. 

"  God's  sake,  sir,  what's  wrong  ? "  he  cried. 
"  You're  not  fey.  You're  not  going  to  die,"  for  it 
seemed  that  nothing  but  the  approach  of  death  itself 
could  have  prompted  that  question. 

"  Yes,  Ian,  soon,"  the  laird  announced  solemnly. 
"  I  am  seventy." 

"  I'm  sixty-five,"  rejoined  Ian  in  a  voice  of  tragedy, 
"  and  I'm  not  thinking  of  dying  yet." 

"  It's  time  for  a  man  of  sixty-five  to  think  of  the 
end,  Ian,  for  he's  only  a  milestone  or  so  behind  the 
man  of  seventy.  But  it  wasn't  exactly  of  that  either  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  you.  You're  sure  the  door  is  shut 
tight  ?  Thank  you.  We've  been  a  long  time  together 
now,  Ian — you  and  I — haven't  we  ?  " 

"  A  long  time,  sir,"  said  Ian  in  a  kind  of  stupefac- 
tion. 

"  Yes,  we've  stood  by  each  other  through  a  good 
many  changes.  And  I  was  afraid,  Ian — for,  indeed, 
I'm  no  saint  any  more  than  yourself — I  was  afraid  you 
might  have  something  against  me.  Some  little  grudge, 
say,  in  your  own  mind." 

188 


A  TEST  OF  LOYALTY 


"Against  you,  sir?"  cried  Ian,  as  in  agony. 
"  When  did  I  make  you  think,  sir,  I  had  a  grudge  ?  " 

"  Never,  Ian.  We've  struck  a  bit  fire  out  of  each 
other  whiles,  but  that's  all.  It's  the  simple  truth, 
you've  been  a  loyal  servant  to  me." 

"  Don't  be  speaking  that  way,  sir,"  pleaded  Ian. 
"  As  sure's  death,  it  makes  me  cold  down  the  back.  If 
you  were  to  go  and  die,  sir,  then  it  would  be  the  luck 
of  the  old  horse  for  Ian." 

"  It's  quite  certain  I'm  going  to  die  then,  Ian,"  re- 
joined the  laird  softly.  "  Because  the  doctor  hasn't 
been  born  yet  who  can  get  the  upper  hand  of  Death. 
But  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  have  nothing  against  me, 
Ian,  neither  on  the  top  of  your  mind,  nor  at  the  bottom, 
where  a  good  man  sometimes  smothers  the  thoughts 
he  won't  speak  even  to  himself.  We  have  to  do  that 
at  times  for  sake  of  our  friends." 

Ian  regarded  his  master  with  a  look  of  exquisite 
misery. 

"  What  for  did  I  go  to  Perth  that  time  with  the 
policeman  ?  "  he  cried.  "  What  for  do  I  hate " 

"  Hush,  hush,  Ian,"  interrupted  the  laird,  his  eyes 
misty  at  sight  of  the  red,  troubled  face  of  his  servant. 

"  The  first  place  of  the  MacLeans,"  said  Ian,  "  is 
away  in  the  West,  beside  the  sea  that's  as  bonnie  as  a 
lassie's  smile  in  summer,  and  worse  than  a  king's  rage 
in  winter,  and  the  place  of  the  Mackerns  is  with  the 
place  of  the  MacLeans.  Ian  Veg  aye  minds  that.  And 
when  a  MacLean  of  Dunveagle  wanted  a  Mackern 
from  the  West,  what  did  Ian  do?  Fuich,  what  am  I 
saying?  Didn't  he  just  bundle  up  and  take  his  Cro- 
mak  and  his  wife,  saying  to  himself  that  as  long  as  the 
good  Lord  God  in  heaven  saw  fit  to  give  him  the  use  of 
his  hands  and  his  bits  of  legs  they  were  the  laird's? 
And  if  any  man  says  that  Ian  has  not  kept  his  word, 

189 


A  SON  OF   GAD 


wet  day  or  dry,  from  that  time  to  this,  that  man's  a 
son  of  Beelzebub,  and  I  don't  care  what's  his  name." 

"  It's  all  true,  Ian,"  said  the  laird,  his  eyes  yet  a 
little  mistier,  "  every  word  of  it,  and  it's  not  half  the 
truth,  either  about  you  or  your  wife  Janet.  I'm  more 
grateful  to  you  both  than  I  can  tell." 

"  There's  just  one  thing,  sir,  if  you'll  let  me  men- 
tion it,"  said  Ian  sheepishly. 

The  laird  pricked  up. 

"  One  thing,  is  there  ?  "  he  returned.  "  I  run  too 
fast  then.  Let  us  have  it." 

"  No,  no,  sir,"  cried  Ian,  startled  by  his  own  indis- 
cretion. 

"  We're  squaring  accounts,"  said  the  laird. 

lan's  face  quivered. 

"  I'm  just  a  doitering  old  fool,"  he  said.  "  Never 
mind  me." 

"  But  I  will,"  said  the  laird.  "  I  ask  what  you're 
keeping  back." 

"  Well,  then,"  cried  Ian  desperately,  "  it  iss  just  the 
Ogilvies.  You  lying  here,  and  me  going  about  and 
seeing  their  black  beasts — their  servants,  sir — where 
they  should  not  be  at  all." 

"  Ian,"  said  the  laird,  with  affected  severity,  "  you 
must  not  talk  like  that.  We're  guests  here,  and  it  be- 
comes guests  to  keep  civil  tongues  in  their  head.  But 
we're  off  again.  To  come  to  business,  I  want  you  to  do 
something  very  particular  for  me.  But,  first,  you'll 
take  an  oath  of  secrecy." 


190 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
THE  LAIRD'S  SECRET 

AT  that  suggestion  of  a  vow,  lan's  face  took  on  an 
expression  of  acute  pain,  as  if  pride  and  loyalty  were 
both  hurt ;  but  the  laird  was  quick  with  salve. 

"  Don't,  think,  Ian/'  he  said,  "  I'm  asking  you  to 
take  this  oath  because  I  couldn't  trust  you  without  it. 
You  know  whether  I  have  always  trusted  you  or  not. 
This  is  just  a  way  of  saying  how  important  I  consider 
a  secret  which  you  of  all  living  beings  besides  myself 
will  alone  know.  And  now  swear." 

By  an  improvised  form,  without  Bible  or  blade,  Ian 
took  the  oath,  and  waited  in  a  beating  curiosity  and 
impatience.  In  a  low  voice,  tentatively  and  with  many 
stops  like  a  man  feeling  his  way,  the  laird  proceeded 
to  unfold  the  secret  which  he  had  kept  so  long  and  so 
jealously.  Ian  listened  as  under  a  spell,  his  counte- 
nance on  the  strain  as  if  every  faculty  and  feature  were 
impressed  to  aid  his  ears  in  taking  in  a  strange  and 
moving  tale. 

By  degrees,  too,  the  speaker  lost  the  air  of  extreme 
caution,  spoke  faster,  and  ever  with  more  passion,  till 
at  last,  shooting  out  the  whole  arm,  he  gripped  Ian  and 
drew  him  down  upon  a  chair  by  the  bedside. 

"  Come  closer,"  he  said,  as  one  who  dreads  the 
lurking  ears  of  doors  and  panels.  "  There,  that's  it. 
You  follow  what  I'm  saying,  Ian  ?  " 

191 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


"Yes,  sir,"  Ian  answered,  his  very  flesh  creeping. 
He  had  seen  the  laird,  as  he  thought,  in  all  moods  of 
joy  and  grief  and  wrath  and  regret  and  revenge,  but 
never  with  such  an  eerie,  mysterious  aspect  as  this. 

"  You  know,  Ian  Veg,"  he  went  on,  in  that  tone  of 
suppressed  excitement  which  thrills  more  than  the 
wildest  violence,  "  you  know  that  a  desperate  man 
does  desperate  things,  ay,  and  foolish.  If  the  world 
went  well  with  us  at  every  turn,  God !  what  Solomons 
we'd  all  be.  It's  easy  to  be  a  good  sailor,  going  with 
fair  wind  and  tide;  it's  hardly  so  easy  when  they're 
both  rough  and  against  us.  If  a  man  wanted  your  life, 
you'd  do  your  best  to  prevent  him,  wouldn't  you? 
And  you  wouldn't  be  too  particular  about  your  method. 
Well,  Ian  Veg,  men  wanted  my  life,  lay  in  wait  for  it 
like  thieves  and  assassins,  tried  every  plan  hate  and 
greed  could  suggest  to  get  it.  Wherever  I  turned 
there  was  an  enemy  in  ambush  ready  to  spring  on  me. 
For  a  while,  damn  them,  they  got  as  good  as  they 
gave.  I've  that  satisfaction,  anyway,  Ian.  But  at  last 
you  mind  that  the  Philistines  put  out  Samson's  eyes. 
I  was  alone.  I  had  none  to  meet  my  enemy  in  the 
gate.  I  could  trust  no  one,  except  Janet  and  yourself, 
and  your  devotion  has  been  a  miracle  of  human  good- 
ness. Ian,  I  thank  you  now." 

"  Don't,  sir,  don't !  "  Ian  cried  in  anguish. 

"  One  thing  the  recording  angel  will  set  down  is 
this,"  pursued  the  laird.  "  In  his  heart  Alan  MacLean 
never  knew  how  to  be  ungrateful.  That  white  mark 
will  stand  against  many  black  marks,  and  who  knows, 
Ian,  the  Great  Judge  may  smile  at  the  eternal  bar  and 
say, '  Alan  MacLean,  you  have  sinned  much ;  here  and 
here  you  are  red  as  scarlet,  but  in  this  one  little  spot  you 
are  white  as  wool.  It  saves  you,  Alan  MacLean ;  pass 
on.'  Imagine  the  surprise  of  some  godly  folk  at  that. 

192 


THE  LAIRD'S  SECRET 


But  not  to  wander,  nobody  knows  how  I  was  set  upon 
by  thieves,  but  I  was  determined  to  fight  to  the  last 
drop  of  blood." 

"  I  know,  sir,"  said  Ian,  in  a  heaving  pant. 

"  Yes,"  responded  the  laird.  "  You  knew  I  fought, 
but  you  didn't  always  know  how." 

He  wiped  a  moist  forehead. 

"  You  remember  the  captain's  mother,  Ian  ?  " 

"  Till  the  day  I  die  I'll  mind  her,  sir,"  cried  Ian, 
"  and  how  we  felt  when  we  lost  her." 

"  Thank  you,  Ian,"  returned  the  laird,  with  an 
effort  to  keep  a  quivering  voice  steady.  "  My  God ! 
how  much  has  come  and  gone  since  then.  But  we 
mustn't  unman  ourselves  by  going  back  on  that. 
Well,  one  day  when  she  felt  her  time  coming — Ian, 
there's  something  that  tells  people  when  their  time  is 
near  at  hand — when  she  felt  hers,  she  came  to  me  one 
day  very  quiet  like  with  a  little  bag  in  her  hand.  '  I 
made  this  myself,'  she  said,  holding  it  out,  '  and  there's 
something  in  it;  a  little  money  that  I  have  saved,  a 
pound  now  and  a  pound  again,  and  it's  all  in  gold.  I 
thought ' — and,  Ian,  the  look  in  her  face  has  never 
left  my  eyes ;  when  we  meet  again  she'll  see  her  own 
image  there — '  I  thought,'  she  said,  coming  a  wee  bit 
nearer  me,  '  I  thought  it  might  be  useful  one  day  for 
Norman.  Poor  boy,  he'll  not  have  much.'  It  was  all 
I  could  do  to  speak,  but  I  took  the  bag,  saying  it  would 
be  Norman's,  and  hid  it,  never  knowing  how  much  the 
gold  was." 

Both  men's  eyes  were  wet ;  simultaneously  they 
brushed  away  that  sign  of  weakness. 

"  When  she  left  us,"  continued  the  laird — "  you 
mind  the  way  of  it,  Ian — the  question  was  how  to  keep 
the  harpies  from  getting  their  ringers  on  the  treasure. 
One  night,  when  there  wasn't  a  soul  near,  I  went  out 

193 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


to  the  wood,  and  under  the  starlit  vault  swore  an  oath 
before  the  living  God  that  the  man  who  tried  to  take  it 
would  die,  if  I  had  to  hack  him  to  pieces.  God  took 
pity,  and  saved  me  from  murder  and  death  on  the  gal- 
lows. But  God's  pity  was  all  I  had.  There's  no  use 
ripping  up  old  wounds.  The  past  is  past;  let  it  be. 
You  know  what  happened.  You  were  for  me,  Ian, 
you  and  Janet,  when  everybody  else  was  against  me ; 
and  if  I  have  ever  wronged  you,  done  or  said  anything 
to  hurt  you,  I  ask  your  forgiveness  now." 

Ian  bowed  his  head,  caught  the  laird's  hand  and 
pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Ian,  man,"  said  the  laird  in  a  kind  of  choking  pro- 
test, "  you'll  make  a  woman  of  me.  There,  there." 

For  a  moment  he  was  silent,  and  then  went  on — 

"  Yes.  You  and  Janet  stuck  to  me  when  all  else 
failed  me,  not  counting  my  boy,  who  couldn't  help, 
poor  little  soul ;  and  you  did  more  than  you  thought, 
for  it  was  by  your  help  I  was  able  to  keep  the  bag. 
Never  mind  how.  It  was  never  out  of  my  thoughts, 
neither  it  nor  my  oath.  God's  mercy  preserved  me 
from  spilling  blood,  but  the  temptation  was  awful,  Ian. 
It  makes  me  shiver  whiles  at  midnight  yet.  Well,  I 
left  Dunveagle  a  beggar.  They  came  and  rouped  me, 
they  came  all  together  like  a  pack  of  hounds  about  a 
spent  hare,  and  they  left  me  stripped,  like  Job  on  his 
dunghill ;  but,  Ian,  man,  I  saved  my  treasure.  It  lay 
here  flat  against  my  very  heart.  One  day,  when  they 
had  my  keys  and  were  searching  the  drawers  and 
boxes,  one  of  them — there  were  two — turned  and 
asked  me  if  I  wasn't  concealing  something.  A  kind  of 
dizziness  came  on  me,  a  wild  feeling  to  put  him  from 
ever  speaking  again.  You  know  me,  Ian.  I  could 
have  laid  him  dead  before  he  could  raise  a  hand  or  a 
cry  come  out  of  his  throat  for  help.  Ay,  both  him  and 

194 


THE  LAIRD'S  SECRET 


his  companion,  who  had  turned  also.  For  a  minute 
I  was  just  drunk  and  giddy  as  I  looked  at  them. 
'  Some  day,'  I  thought,  '  an  old  woman  will  be  show- 
ing the  dark  stain  on  the  floor  where  their  blood  ran 
out.'  Ay,  and  I  had  no  thought  but  to  do  it,  for  I 
could  stand  no  more.  But  there's  a  Providence  takes 
care  of  us  from  ourselves.  Just  when  I  was  stretching 
my  hand  for  my  skene-dhu,  kept  sharp  on  purpose, 
your  wife,  Janet,  came  in  and  saved  me.  Dear  me, 
how  hot  it  is !  My  handkerchief,  Ian,  and  a  drink." 

He  wiped  his  brow  and  took  a  long  draught  of 
cold  water. 

"  And  then,  sir  ?  "  Ian  asked  fearfully. 

"  I  turned  without  a  word,"  said  the  laird,  "  and  the 
coward  had  his  life.  Till  we're  all  before  the  Judg- 
ment-seat he'll  never  know  how  near  he  came  to  losing 
it  that  day.  Well,  I  went,  keeping  my  treasure.  I 
went  to  Craigenard — you'll  mind  how — and  still  there 
was  the  need  of  hiding." 

Ian  wriggled  as  if  his  chair  were  a  quick-set  hedge, 
and  breathed  as  if  some  one  had  him  by  the  throat. 

"  I  hid  the  money,  Ian,"  pursued  the  laird,  "  no  liv- 
ing soul  but  myself  knowing  where." 

Ian  started  like  a  guilty  man,  his  face  drawn,  his 
eyes  hard  on  the  laird. 

"  And  at  last,"  said  his  master,  "  I  have  reached  my 
point.  Listen  with  all  your  ears  to  what  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  now." 

And  then  minutely,  point  by  point,  he  described  the 
place  of  that  great  rock  which  Ian  knew  so  well  and 
had  visited  so  often,  with  full  knowledge  of  the  hoard  it 
held. 

"  I  kept  my  secret  from  everybody,  as  you  can  un- 
derstand," the  laird  went  on,  while  Ian  tingled  in  pity 
and  remorse  over  men's  pathetic  errors.  "  You'll  un- 

195 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


derstand  now,  too,  why  I  asked  for  an  oath  of  secrecy. 
Now  to  the  reason  for  telling  all  this.  From  the  wreck 
I  managed  to  save  a  little,  a  very  little  of  my  own,  to 
which  I  have  since  added  an  odd  penny  now  and  again. 
It's  all  together  in  that  hole  in  the  rock." 

Ian  thought  he  must  cry  out  to  relieve  himself  and 
undeceive  the  laird,  but  he  managed  to  hold  his  peace, 
shutting  his  lips  the  tighter  the  more  urgently  the  feel- 
ing within  struggled  for  expression. 

"  Do  I  trust  you  now,  Ian  ? "  the  laird  asked. 
"  Well,  listen.  I  want  you  to  go  up  there,  taking  care 
that  no  one  sees  you.  The  original  bag  you'll  find 
rolled  up  inside  another  of  stouter  make.  This  last  also 
holds  my  little  savings.  Bring  me  that  here,  but  leave 
the  other  where  you  find  it,  and,  Ian,  as  you  love  me, 
take  care  it  is  well  hidden,  and  that  nobody  spies  upon 
you.  You  must  be  as  secret  as  the  grave." 

Luckily  the  laird  was  himself  too  eager  and  excited 
to  mark  fluctuations  of  feeling  in  another. 

"  At  once,  sir?  "  Ian  asked. 

"  Yes,  at  once.  I  want  it  here  within  the  next  two 
hours.  If  I  weren't  on  my  back  I'd  go  myself.  But  I 
put  my  faith  in  you,  Ian." 

"  And  you'll  not  be  sorry,  sir,"  returned  Ian,  pre- 
paring to  go  ;  and  the  laird  smiling  upon  him  construed 
his  haste  as  yet  another  proof  of  that  devotion  which 
had  stood  the  tests  of  forty  years. 

On  his  upward  way  Ian  looked  in  at  Craigenard  to 
make  sure  that  Janet  and  Maggie  were  suitably  em- 
ployed, and  then  with  a  humming  head  went  about  his 
mission. 

"  If  only  the  laird  knew,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  if 
only  the  laird  knew.  Gosh,  what  a  ploy !  " 

He  sped  on  like  a  boy,  nerve  and  muscle  alive  with 
excitement.  He  almost  feared  the  treasure  would  not 

196 


THE  LAIRD'S   SECRET 


be  there  now  that  it  was  wanted.  What  if  it  were 
gone  ?  What  if  within  the  last  twenty-four  hours  rob- 
bers had  discovered  it?  It  made  him  cold  to  think  of 
such  a  catastrophe,  and  he  sped  the  faster. 

At  last  the  grey,  craggy  turrets  rose  on  his  view, 
and  next  minute  the  pinnacled  top  of  that  rock  of  gold 
itself.  The  sight  of  that  familiar  object  almost  made 
his  heart  stop;  an  instant  later  it  stopped  wholly,  for 
there,  as  Ian  approached,  was  a  human  figure  plainly, 
palpably  bent  over  the  crevice  that  held  the  gold. 


197 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

A  STRANGE    CONTRIBUTION   TO    HIDDEN   TREASURE 

A  MOMENT  Ian  stared  like  one  paralysed  by  shock ; 
the  next  he  darted  forward  silently,  as  one  pounces 
on  a  thief.  His  foot  struck  against  a  stone,  and  a 
startled  face  was  lifted  quickly  to  his,  the  face  of  Alick. 
With  a  cry  of  rage,  Ian  sprang  at  the  boy,  gripping 
him  by  the  throat. 

"  So  this  is  what  you're  doing  when  you  get  me  out 
of  the  way,"  he  said  in  a  savage  pant.  "  Maybe  I'll 
learn  you." 

Nothing  but  the  devilish  nerve  and  agility  of  Alick 
saved  his  windpipe.  With  the  slippery  litheness  of  an 
eel  he  twisted  from  lan's  grasp,  leaped  like  a  goat  to  a 
point  of  rock  above,  and  turned,  every  rebel  instinct 
within  him  aflame. 

"  If  you  want  Janet  not  to  know  you,  come  after 
me,"  he  said,  the  black  eyes  and  scarlet  face  adding 
ferocity  to  the  words. 

A  second  Ian  frowned  on  the  blazing  imp,  then 
looked  down  at  the  pile  of  spilled  gold  glittering  in  the 
sun.  At  the  thought  of  that  treachery  he  turned  up- 
ward again. 

"  Alick,"  he  cried,  his  voice  like  thunder,  his  eyes 
discharging  lightnings,  "  I  haf  misdooted  ye  for  a  good 
while  now,  but  I  didn't  think  ye'd  do  this.  It's  best  to 
be  plain  with  me ;  how  much  did  you  take  ?  " 

198 


A  STRANGE  CONTRIBUTION 

"  Take  ?  "  repeated  Alick,  his  black  eyes  flashing 
more  wickedly.  He  tore  off  a  loose  fragment  of  rock. 
"  Ask  that  again,"  he  said,  poising  the  missile. 

"  You'll  put  me  to  the  trouble  of  leathering  you," 
replied  the  irate  man  below. 

"  I'm  thinking  not,"  retorted  Alick,  "  for,  look 
you,  the  very  first  move  you  make  something  will 
happen.  You  mind  what  you  told  me  once,  always 
to  get  in  the  first  blow.  And  as  to  what  you  are  say- 
ing, do  you  think  it  is  taking  the  laird's  money  I'd 
be,  Ian  Veg?  Do  you  think  I  go  about  with  tarry 
fingers  ?  " 

"  One  that's  thick  with  the  Ogilvies  would  do  any- 
thing, I'm  thinking,"  rejoined  Ian. 

"  Say  that  again,"  cried  Alick,  poising  his  fragment 
of  rock  afresh. 

"  Oh,  ay,"  responded  Ian  contemptuously ;  "  throw 
away,  throw  away.  For  all  that  I've  done  for  ye,  Alick 
Ruah,  nothing  would  please  you  better  than  to  dance 
the  Highland  Fling  on  my  corp." 

"  Don't  be  setting  your  bonnet  so  high,  Ian  Veg," 
was  the  reply.  "  Maybe  I  wouldn't  think  it  worth  my 
while.  But  what  I'm  waiting  for  the  now  is  just  you 
to  say  again  what  you  said  about  me  and  the  Ogil- 
vies." 

Now  Ian  understood  Alick  from  the  crown  of  his 
rebellious  head  to  the  sole  of  his  defiant  foot,  and, 
looking  up,  had  a  pungent  sense  of  the  futility  of  argu- 
ment at  long  range ;  also  of  the  folly  of  attempting  to 
chase  a  wild  cat  among  rocks,  a  wild  cat,  too,  with  all 
its  passions  of  resentment  and  revenge  ablaze. 

He  looked  again  at  the  spilled  gold,  a  ruddy  heap 
in  a  grey,  lichened  dent  of  the  rock,  and  noted  that  the 
inner  bag,  the  laird's  particular  treasure,  lay  with  its 
mouth  open.  That  worked  upon  him  to  a  fresh  access 

199 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


of  fury,  but  fury  was  lost  on  the  mocking  imp  above, 
and  presently  he  fell  back  on  the  methods  of  diplo- 
macy. 

"  If  you  come  down,  Alick,  and  tell  me  what 
brought  you  here  and  what  you  were  doing,"  he  said, 
"  I'll  promise  not  to  lay  hands  on  you." 

Making  his  footing  securer,  Alick  bent  a  concen- 
trated gaze  on  the  man  beneath.  He  owned  to  him- 
self that  he  had  never  caught  Ian  in  a  lie ;  indeed,  he 
was  disposed  to  think  that  the  ability  to  lie  with  any 
degree  of  craft  was  not  among  lan's  resources,  natural 
or  acquired. 

"  Say  this,  then,"  he  replied :  " '  If  I  try  to  touch 
you  may  God  strike  me  dead ' ; "  and  when  Ian  had 
complied,  "  Very  well ;  now,  if  you'll  put  down  that 
cudgel,  I'll  put  down  this  stone." 

That  matter  having  also  been  arranged  to  his  satis- 
faction, Alick  descended. 

"  You  think  I  have  been  stealing,"  he  said,  facing 
Ian  squarely.  "  Listen,  and  I'll  tell  you  how  I  did  it. 
But  first  you  must  promise  not  to  breathe  a  word  to 
anybody,  for  it's  a  secret,  and  I  had  to  swear,  too.  If 
you  hadn't  come  on  me  you  wouldn't  know." 

"  Tell  me,  Alick,"  Ian  said  impatiently,  on  taking 
the  necessary  pledge;  and  thereupon  Alick  told  a  tale 
which  made  Ian  gape.  To  begin  with,  Mr.  Mackern 
learned  that,  all  unsuspected,  Alick  had  got  on  con- 
fidential terms  with  Miss  Ogilvie,  that  certain  conver- 
sations had  taken  place  between  these  two  touching 
the  laird's  affairs,  and  that,  doubtless  for  some  dark 
reason  of  her  own,  the  lady  was  extraordinarily  sym- 
pathetic. 

"Just  a  dodge  to  pick  you,  Alick,"  Ian  broke  in 
sceptically. 

"  Wait  and  you'll  see,"  was  the  response.    "  Maybe 

200 


A  STRANGE  CONTRIBUTION 

you  noticed,  and  maybe  you  didn't,  that  the  captain 
and  Mr.  Dunbar  were  got  out  of  the  way  to-day,  that 
Miss  Dunbar  was  mostly  with  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  and  that 
Miss  Ogilvie  was  very  busy  by  herself,  and  in  a  dread- 
ful hurry  too.  '  Alick,'  says  she,  '  I  want  you  to  do 
something  important,  to  do  it  quick,  quick,  and  for 
your  life  not  to  let  anybody  know,  not  your  dearest 
friend.  Who's  your  dearest  friend,  Alick  ? '  says  she. 
'  Ian  Veg,  mem,'  says  I." 

"  You  said  that  ?  "  cried  Ian,  with  a  thrill  of  pleas- 
ure and  remorse. 

"  I  said, '  Ian  Veg's  my  dearest  friend/  "  continued 
Alick. 

"  '  Well,  you'll  not  tell  this,  even  to  him,'  she  says ; 
'  promise,'  says  she.  I  promised,  and  then  she  said, '  II 
you  break  your  word  I'll  never  trust  you  or  be  friends 
with  you  again.'  But,  Ian,  you  found  out  without  tell- 
ing." 

Ian  nodded ;  Alick  went  on — 

"  She  gave  me  a  purse  just  bulging  with  gold. 
'  There,'  says  she,  '  you're  to  go  and  put  that  in  the 
little  bag  that  the  laird  never  touches '  (for  I  told  her 
about  it,  but  not  where  it  is),  *  and  here's  a  little  some- 
thing for  your  trouble.'  She  was  speaking  fast  and 
looking  round  as  if  afraid  of  somebody  listening.  The 
blood  was  coming  and  going  in  her  face  too,  and  her 
breast  was  jumping  and  dancing.  '  Now  you'll  be 
quick,  Alick,'  she  said,  '  and  take  great  care  not  to  let 
anybody  see  you,  for  it  would  never  do  to  be  found 
out.' " 

"And  you  put  it  in  there?"  said  Ian,  drawing  a 
long  breath. 

"  I  was  putting  it  there  when  you  came,"  was  the 
answer. 

Ian  cast  a  look  at  the  gold,  and  a  choking  fury 
J4  201 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


seized  him.    His  impulse  was  to  pick  out  Connie's  gold 
piece  by  piece,  and  fling  it  to  the  winds. 

"  The  dirty  dirt,"  he  cried  furiously.  "  Thenk-ee 
for  telling  me,  Alick.  You  did  it  for  the  best.  But 
you're  surely  mad.  Their  trash  can't  stop  here ;  there 
would  be  no  luck  with  it." 

"  You  mind  what  you  and  me  once  agreed  about 
getting  money  for  the  laird  ?  "  Alick  replied.  "  At  first 
I  was  for  refusing  point-blank,  though  Miss  Ogilvie 
was  kind  and  nice  about  it" 

"  Kind  and  nice,"  repeated  Ian  in  mingled  scorn 
and  anger.  "  Alick,  I  think  the  sooner  you  and  me 
pairts  the  better." 

"  Steady  a  bit,"  cried  Alick.  "  Is  there  no  way  of 
using  folk,  d'ye  think,  but  knocking  their  noses  off? 
The  other  day  I  was  reading  in  the  paper  about  a 
battle  somewhere,  and  one  side  took  guns  from  the 
other  side,  and  then  turned  them  on  the  side  that 
lost  them.  It  was  that  that  put  thoughts  into  my 
head." 

A  great  light,  a  sudden  radiance  overspread  lan's 
face. 

"  Body  and  soul  of  me,  Alick,"  he  cried,  "  I'm  not 
fit  to  breathe  the  same  air  as  you.  Man,  that's  grand. 
I  take  back  everything  I  said.  Here's  my  hand.  Man, 
yer  a  deep,  wicked,  cunning,  wee  tevil.  Turning  an 
enemy's  guns  on  themselves.  Fuich,  as  sure's  death 
your  head  is  worth  ten  thoosand  of  mines,  to  take  that 
gold  that  we  might  fight  them  that  gave  it." 

"  Just  that,"  replied  Alick,  his  heart  beating  a  tat- 
too of  jubilation. 

Ian  stooped  and  began  to  shovel  the  gold  from 
hand  to  hand  with  the  doting  avarice  of  a  miser ;  then 
piece  by  piece  he  counted  it. 

"  Fifty-two,"  he  cried  breathlessly. 
202 


A  STRANGE  CONTRIBUTION 

"  Yes,"  said  Alick,  "  fifty  from  Miss  Ogilvie  and 
the  two  she  gave  me  for  myself." 

"  Your  two  ?  "  responded  Ian,  every  nerve  in  him 
dancing.  "  You  mean  to  tell  me  you  put  yours  in,  too  ? 
I  haf  been  a  great  big  ass  this  day.  If  ye  think  there'll 
be  any  sateesfaction  in  the  thing,  take  that  Cromak 
to  me.  For  it  iss  just  the  God's  own  truth,  Alick  Ruah, 
yer  wonderful  cliver." 

"  You're  sorry  for  thinking  I  would  break  my  word 
and  take  the  laird's  money,"  said  Alick,  whose  dearest 
testimonial  was  still  the  good  word  of  his  mentor,  Ian 
Veg  Mackern. 

"Sorry?"  echoed  Ian.  "That  iss  not  it  at  all. 
I'm  fair  ashamed  to  look  you  in  the  face.  But,  man, 
Alick,  I'm  glad,  too;  oh,  yes,  gladder  than  if  I  wass 
getting  fou  at  your  wedding.  For  look  you,  Alick, 
there's  things  in  you  the  spoon  didn't  put  in.  Turn- 
ing their  own  guns  on  them.  Fifty-two  gold  sov- 
ereigns— a  pound  note  for  every  week  in  the  year — 
from  the  Ogilvies  to  fight  the  Ogilvies.  I'll  never  mis- 
call ye  again.  Is  there  any  chance  of  getting  more, 
d'ye  think?" 

"  Maybe,"  replied  Alick,  "  if  a  body  was  to  try 
hard." 

"  Alick,  cross  your  hands  on  mines,"  said  Ian,  hold- 
ing out  his  own.  "  There  now,  you  and  me's  entered 
into  a  covenant  as  firm  as  scriptur  can  make  it,  and 
it's  this:  that  we'll  bleed  the  Ogilvies  every  chance. 
That's  our  business  with  them  from  this  day  on.  And, 
mind  you,  if  one  of  us  breaks  the  covenant,  plagues 
and  boils  and  things  will  come  on  him  just  as  the 
Bible  says.  Man,"  he  cried,  "  if  you  and  me  was  to 
get  back  Dunveagle!  Think  of  that.  Alick,  bleed 
them,  and  the  minute  you  forget  your  covenant,  may 
the  tevil  catch  you  by  the  hind  leg." 

203 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

A   WOODLAND    EXPLORATION 

HE  began  to  gather  up  the  contemned  gold,  re- 
counting it  in  a  kind  of  vengeful  glee,  as  of  one  who 
had  found  means  of  feeding  fat  a  very  bitter  grudge. 
Then  he  opened  the  bag  which  held  the  laird's  especial 
treasure,  drew  forth  a  letter  superscribed  in  a  thin, 
tremulous  woman's  hand,  put  in  the  gold  which  was  to 
turn  like  a  curse  against  the  givers,  reverently  replaced 
the  letter,  tied  the  bag  securely,  and  replaced  it  deep 
down  in  the  crevice.  That  done,  he  took  the  whole  of 
his  master's  savings  (pathetically  increased  as  we  have 
seen),  explaining  that  the  money  was  urgently  needed 
at  the  castle  for  purposes  to  be  stated  later  on;  and 
having  craftily  as  bandits  covered  all  marks  of  disturb- 
ance, the  pair  descended  swiftly.  For  Ian  had  already 
tarried  too  long,  and  Alick  was  impatient  to  report  to 
Connie.  Jerking  out  comments  and  opinions  on  the 
prospects  which  a  conniving  Providence  was  opening 
out,  they  tore  down  through  the  Tyrian  purple  of  the 
early  August  heather,  and  plunged  into  the  green  cool- 
ness of  the  Dunveagle  woods,  wiping  their  stream- 
ing faces.  Half-way  down  they  paused  at  the  sound 
of  voices,  and  a  minute  later  came  on  the  captain 
with  Miss  Ogilvie  and  Miss  Dunbar,  gathering  wild 
flowers,  in  a  little  dingle  by  the  brookside.  At  sight 
of  her  messenger  Connie  put  a  finger  meaningly  on 
her  lips,  and  the  two,  doffing  their  caps,  passed  on. 

204 


A  WOODLAND  EXPLORATION 

The  expedition  into  the  woodlands  was  unplanned 
and  unexpected.  On  returning,  Jeff  was  busy  with  his 
motor.  Mr.  Linnie  had  been  politely  but  effectually 
dismissed  by  Kitty,  and  the  ladies  either  in  weariness 
or  coquetry  had  turned  to  Norman  for  entertainment. 
He  related  bits  of  the  Iliad  of  Dunveagle,  and  Kitty 
was  stirred  to  an  unwonted  interest.  She  asked  many 
questions,  and  the  end  was  that  the  captain  offered 
to  conduct  her  to  some  of  the  more  romantic  spots. 
Kitty  beamed  her  thanks,  saying  she  was  ready. 

Now  Connie  had  other  business  on  hand,  but  at 
that  proposal  she  must  needs  cry  out  that  she  too 
would  make  one  of  the  party,  and  the  trio  started  into 
the  leafy  wilds,  which  Norman  knew  so  well,  and,  alas ! 
loved  so  fondly. 

Connie  walked  thinking  of  many  things,  but  espe- 
cially of  the  misfortunes  of  the  house  of  MacLean. 
She  was  infinitely  glad  to  be  mistress  of  Dunveagle, 
but  her  heart  smote  her  at  the  thought  that  she  reigned 
at  the  cost  of  another's  happiness.  Sometimes  in  com- 
muning with  herself,  she  wondered  what  would  become 
of  the  estate  if  one  day  she  should  return,  as  expected, 
to  take  her  place  as  a  leader  of  fashion  in  New  York. 
A  man  of  the  world,  especially  an  American  man  of 
the  world,  to  whom  the  excitements  of  the  city  were 
as  the  breath  of  life,  would  never  consent  to  live  a 
cloistered  existence  in  Dunveagle.  Not  Eden  itself 
would  tempt  him  from  the  roar  and  dazzle  of  the  glit- 
tering multitude,  and  she  vaguely  understood  the  law 
that  where  the  man  is  there  the  woman  must  be  also. 
Yes,  she  supposed  that  under  another  name  she  would 
go  back  to  New  York  and  rejoin  the  elect,  who  make 
social  laws  for  the  Republic,  and  outdo  the  splendour 
of  princes. 

What  would  become  of  Dunveagle  then  ?  She  had 
205 


A  SON   OF  GAD 


thoughts  on  the  subject,  haunting  thoughts  that  she 
durst  not  frame  too  clearly  even  to  herself. 

During  the  last  few  weeks  her  interest  in  this  Dun- 
veagle  problem  had  been  quickened  and  deepened  in 
a  way  that  none  suspected,  that  she  hardly  herself 
understood.  Hence  in  this  ramble  through  the  woods, 
though  she  was  the  soul  of  gaiety,  she  often  glanced 
strangely  at  one  of  her  companions.  For  there  were 
thoughts  at  the  back  of  her  mind  that  would  not  be 
put  to  rest. 

She  marked  or  fancied,  and  fancy  furnishes  proofs 
strong  as  Holy  Writ,  that  Kitty  was  at  pains  to  be 
agreeable.  And  never  in  Connie's  eyes  had  she 
seemed  so  dangerously  bewitching,  not  merely  in  looks 
and  manner,  but  in  the  point  and  vivacity  of  her  con- 
versation. 

The  American  girl,  a  fastidious  or  crusty  European 
will  tell  you,  is  voluble  to  excess.  Kitty,  like  a  good 
American,  carried  her  nationality  into  everything, 
sacred  and  secular.  She  travelled  quickly,  read  quick- 
ly, thought  quickly,  talked  quickly,  and  on  all  that 
a  woman  of  the  world  ought  to  know,  her  knowledge 
was  encyclopaedic.  To-day  she  seemed  brighter,  wit- 
tier, more  discursive  than  Connie  had  ever  seen  her, 
and  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  it,  she  was  draw- 
ing the  captain  out  of  his  melancholy  reserve. 

The  appearance  of  Ian  and  Alick  intensified  the 
turmoil  in  Connie's  breast,  so  that  it  needed  all  her 
tact  to  keep  a  semblance  of  self-possession.  She 
burned  to  follow  and  question  Alick,  but  that  being 
impossible,  she  joined  in  admiration  of  scenes  she 
scarcely  saw,  laughed  at  jests  she  scarcely  heard,  and 
to  her  own  dismay  proved  that  on  trying  occasions 
she  might  be  the  reverse  of  cool.  She  seized  the  first 
opportunity  of  proposing  a  return,  and  from  the  ab- 

206 


A    WOODLAND  EXPLORATION 

ruptness  of  her  manner  the  captain  was  certain  that 
from  some  inexplicable  cause  he  had  offended  again. 

"  Always  making  a  mess  of  it,"  he  said  to  himself, 
and  resolved  for  the  future  to  intrude  upon  her  as  little 
as  possible. 

Meanwhile  Kitty  was  asking  if  Connie  were  well. 
"  I  thought  you  looked  pale  and  abstracted,  dear," 
Miss  Dunbar  said. 

"  Oh,  only  a  headache,  dear,"  Connie  answered. 
"  Will  you  excuse  me  if  I  go  to  my  own  room  just  for 
a  little?" 


207 


CHAPTER   XXX 

A   SUM   IN  ARITHMETIC 

IAN  delivered  his  gold  in  such  an  elation  of  spirits 
as  he  had  not  enjoyed  for  twenty  years.  To  have  men- 
tioned Nemesis  would  be  meaningless,  for  Ian  was  no 
Grecian;  but  he  had  Hebrew  notions  of  vengeance, 
and  could  lay  a  ready  finger  on  a  score  of  passages  in 
the  Bible  that  suited  his  case  like  a  prescription.  The 
learned  speak  of  retributive  justice.  Ian  knew  nothing 
of  fine  names,  but  he  had  a  perfect  appreciation  of  the 
prophet's  prayer,  "  Rid  me  of  mine  enemies ;  revenge 
me  of  my  persecutors." 

The  Bible,  being  universal,  gives  to  each  searcher 
precisely  what  he  seeks,  good  or  evil.  Ian  passed 
backward  lightly  over  the  New  Testament,  with  its 
doctrines  of  meekness  and  forgiveness;  but  he  dwelt 
with  a  fierce,  .whole-hearted  delight  on  the  implacable 
vengeance  of  the  Old,  and  could  quote  texts  with  more 
than  devotional  zeal. 

"  The  minister  tells  us,"  said  Ian,  "  we  can't  go  far 
wrong  if  we  keep  to  the  Bible.  I'm  content.  Listen  to 
this— 

"  And  after  he  had  slain  Sihon,  the  king  of  the  Am- 
orites,  he  spoke;  that's  your  meek  Moses  for  ye.  Ye'll 
observe  his  plan.  First  he  makes  sure  of  killing  his 
man,  and  speaks  afterwards. 

"  And  it  came  to  pass  when  he  began  to  reign,  as  soon 
208 


A  SUM  IN  ARITHMETIC 


as  he  sat  on  his  throne,  that  he  slew  all  the  house  of 
Baasha.  Not  one  left  to  complain,  ye  see,  or  spread 
false  reports. 

"  And  Jehu  said  to  the  captain  of  the  guard,  Go  in  and 
slay  them,  and  let  none  escape.  Not  a  mother's  son  of 
them.  The  Hebrews  did  what  they  wanted  without 
going  to  lawyers.  When  a  man  had  a  grudge  he  just 
sharpened  up  his  bowie-knife,  as  ye  might  say,  watched 
his  chance,  and  gave  it  to  the  other  fellow  under  the 
fifth  rib.  Generally  speaking,  that  settled  all  ac- 
counts." 

The  Hebrew  passion  of  vengeance  surged  deep  in 
Ian  as  he  handed  the  gold  to  his  master.  The  Ogilvies 
had  come  from  America  with  pipes  playing  a  tri- 
umphal quick-step;  they  would  return  to  the  wail  of 
a  coronach. 

"  Well,  Ian,"  said  the  laird,  taking  the  bag  with  an 
eager,  nervous  hand,  "  is  everything  right  ?  " 

"  Everything  iss  right,  sir,"  Ian  answered  confi- 
dently. 

"  You  were  longer  than  I  expected." 

"  You  know,  sir,  I  had  to  be  awful  careful." 

"  True,  true,"  admitted  the  laird.  "  Better  be  slow 
and  sure  than  hasty  and  found  out.  We  must  keep  this 
to  ourselves,  absolutely.  The  other  bag  is  safe,  Ian  ?  " 

"  Quite  safe,  sir,"  Ian  assured  him.  At  the  same 
time  he  was  saying  in  his  heart,  "  If  only  you  knew, 
if  only  you  knew.  But  it's  not  good  for  a  man  to  know 
everything." 

"  Ian,"  said  the  laird,  drawing  in  the  money,  "  this 
must  not  come  to  the  ears  of  any  one,  man,  woman,  or 
child.  As  there  are  things  between  man  and  his 
Maker  not  fit  for  the  market-place,  so  there  are  things 
between  man  and  man  that  must  not  be  bawled  from 
the  house-top.  I'm  obliged  to  you  for  another  service, 

209 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


another  mark  of  devotion.  I  have  just  one  thing  more 
to  ask." 

"Yes,  sir?"  said  Ian  interrogatively. 

"  God  made  us  all  what  we  are,  Ian,"  rejoined  the 
laird.  "  A  few  of  us  saints  perhaps,  but  most  of  us  just 
common,  ordinary  sinners.  Some  He  made  patient 
and  some  the  reverse,  just  as  He  made  one  apple  sweet 
and  another  sour.  But  the  sweet  and  the  sour  are  both 
of  His  making,  and  if  an  apple  sets  your  teeth  on  edge 
you  should  not  curse,  because  the  apple  is  not  to 
blame.  When  I  vex  you,  Ian,  think  of  that.  Just  say 
quietly  in  to  yourself,  '  The  apple's  a  bit  tart,  but  it's 
not  to  blame  ;  it  was  made  that  way.'  You  follow  me  ? 
Likely  I'll  say  things  to  you  I  shouldn't  say,  cross,  un- 
kind things,  for  indeed,  Ian,  between  you  and  me, 
vows  and  resolutions  to  be  good  don't  help  much.  But 
you'll  understand  and  never  mind,  for  after  this  we 
must  be  to  each  other  as  lock  and  key." 

"  It  has  always  been  the  plan  of  Ian  Veg,  sir,  and  he 
iss  too  old  to  change  now.  But  though  he  iss  old  he 
expects  things  yet,  and  it  iss  in  his  mind  this  day  that 
the  trash  will  be  away  out  of  this  yet." 

The  laird  looked  at  him  very  hard. 

"  When  you  and  I  are  away  too,  Ian,"  he  re- 
sponded. 

"  I  never  heard  that  dead  men  take  any  pleasure  in 
what  goes  on  about  them,"  said  Ian  meaningly. 
"  Something  tells  me  I'll  dance  the  Highland  Fling  in 
Dunveagle  yet." 

The  laird  smiled,  but  lan's  face  darkened. 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  another  kind  of  reel  too  that  some 
folk  little  think  of " 

"  Ian,  Ian,"  cried  the  laird,  starting  to  find  his  own 
vague  thoughts  shaped  by  another,  "  we  must  not  talk 
like  that.  For  you  and  me  mum's  the  word.  We 

210 


A  SUM  IN   ARITHMETIC 


know  what  we  know,  and  for  the  present  let  that  be 
enough.  And  now  will  you  see  if  Norman's  about, 
and  say  I  want  a  word  with  him  ?  Another  time  we'll 
talk  more." 

Though  he  had  much  to  say,  or  rather  to  hint  dark- 
ly, Ian  was  nevertheless  glad  to  be  released,  because 
his  feelings  had  more  than  once  during  the  interview 
threatened  to  break  bounds.  "  Turn  their  own  guns 
against  them,"  he  kept  repeating  in  his  mind.  Brain 
had  never  devised  a  better,  subtler,  deadlier,  more  in- 
spiring method.  Alick  was  beyond  doubt  a  clever  limb 
of  Satan. 

Ten  minutes  later  Norman  closed  the  door  of  his 
father's  room  from  the  inside. 

"  You'll  be  surprised  I've  sent  for  you  again,"  the 
laird  said,  smiling  up  at  him.  "  But  since  you  left  I 
have  been  thinking  of  things,  and  if  it's  your  pleasure 
to  take  a  hand  in  the  game  Mr.  Ogilvie  mentioned,  I'm 
agreeable.  Here's  something  for  the  play,"  and  he 
pushed  the  bag  of  money  towards  Norman  with  an  ex- 
pression which  said,  "  There's  a  thing  which  is  a  great 
worry  to  me.  Take  it  off  my  hands,  and  no  speeches, 
please." 

Norman  took  the  bag  mechanically,  lifted  it,  heard 
the  chink  of  coin,  and  laid  it  down,  his  face  tense  with 
amazement. 

"  But  this  is  impossible,  father,"  he  returned. 

"  Why  impossible  ?  "  asked  the  laird.  "  Isn't  it 
there?" 

"  But  after  all,  what  Mr.  Ogilvie  advises  is  mere 
speculation,"  Norman  protested.  "  And  every  penny 
may  be  lost." 

"  If  it's  your  pleasure  it's  mine,"  rejoined  the  laird 
doggedly. 

He  declined  to  discuss  the  question  of  refusal  or 

211 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


the  possibility  of  failure.  Meditating  upon  his  bed, 
like  David  of  old,  he  had  had  wild,  exultant  thoughts 
of  a  dramatic  turn  of  the  wheel  of  fortune. 

He  wanted  money,  desperately,  as  a  starving  man 
wants  food.  The  honour  and  tradition  to  which  he 
had  so  long  clung,  with  Celtic  inveteracy,  were  of  no 
avail.  He  must  sacrifice  to  convention ;  he  must  go 
with  the  tide  or  be  broken  on  the  rocks.  Not  even  in 
the  very  midst  of  his  tragedy  had  the  sense  of  the  om- 
nipotence of  money  been  so  acute  as  it  became  now. 
He  needed  money,  if  not  for  himself,  then  for  his 
portionless  son,  and  when  the  chance  came,  even  the 
risky  chance  of  Stock  Exchange  speculation,  he  leaped 
at  it  as  leaps  the  condemned  prisoner  for  liberty  and 
life.  What  can  a  man  love  more  than  himself?  asks 
the  cynic.  Sometimes  he  loves  bone  of  his  bone  and 
flesh  of  his  flesh  more ;  and  perhaps  he  feels  most  the 
fatherhood  of  God  who  most  feels  his  own  fatherhood. 

The  laird  told  himself  that  he  was  risking  next  to 
nothing — if  it  were  lost  let  it  go;  he  had  survived 
heavier  losses,  and  there  would  still  remain  the 
precious  treasure  which  no  finger  of  his  had  touched, 
or  would  touch.  That  should  not  be  risked ;  but  all 
else  would  cheerfully  be  staked.  He  was  even  willing 
to  be  under  an  obligation  to  Duncan  Ogilvie,  and  self- 
sacrifice  could  not  go  beyond  that.  So  he  said  with 
all  the  emphasis  of  his  masterful  nature,  "  It  is  my 
pleasure." 

But  in  deciding  this  he  had  omitted  to  take  one 
small  but  vital  circumstance  into  account ;  to  wit,  that 
in  arguing  with  Norman  he  was  arguing  with  Alan 
MacLean,  re-endowed  with  all  the  force  and  inde- 
pendence of  youth,  plus  something  that  had  never  been 
Alan's.  Norman  was  touched,  but  he  was  also  obdu- 
rate. While  he  had  a  head  to  plan  and  two  hands 

212 


A  SUM  IN  ARITHMETIC 


to  execute,  not  a  fraction  of  his  father's  scant  supply 
would  he  touch.  So  with  brief,  broken  thanks  and 
expressions  of  gratitude,  for  he  was  not  at  all  sure 
of  himself,  he  left  abruptly. 

For  the  space  of  a  minute  the  laird  gazed  hard  at 
the  closed  door;  then  his  eyes  rested  on  the  bag  of 
money,  procured  with  so  much  difficulty,  refused  so 
emphatically.  He  was  both  glad  and  angry,  touched 
by  filial  love,  provoked  by  filial  disobedience.  His  face 
shone  with  a  mingled  radiance  of  storm  and  sunshine ; 
then,  sudden  as  the  caprice  of  an  April  day,  his  expres- 
sion changed  to  one  of  set  determination,  and  he  rang 
the  bell.  He  wished  to  know  if  Mr.  Ogilvie  were  en- 
gaged, and  if  not  whether  he  could  spare  a  moment  for 
business.  Glad  to  serve  his  guest,  Mr.  Ogilvie  at  once 
complied  with  the  summons. 

"  You  have  been  good  enough  to  make  a  certain 
proposal  to  my  son,"  the  laird  said,  explaining  his 
business  without  circumlocution.  "  We've  talked  the 
matter  over,  and  there's  a  mite,"  pushing  the  bag 
towards  his  host.  "  It  will  be  a  favour  to  me,  Mr. 
Ogilvie,  if  you  take  charge  of  it,  for  indeed  I'm  an  old 
wife  in  such  things,  and  Norman's  an  infant  in  arms. 
It's  his,  of  course,  though  he  has  left  the  details  to 
me.  Will  you  see  that  the  thing  is  done  on  his  be- 
half?" 

"  No  commission  could  give  me  greater  pleasure," 
Mr.  Ogilvie  answered  warmly.  "  How  much  is  there 
here,  sir?  " 

"  Indeed,  I'm  not  sure  to  a  pound  or  two,"  was  the 
reply.  "  But  you  can  count  and  let  me  know  at  your 
convenience." 

"  We'd  better  count  now,"  said  the  man  of  business. 

"  Count  now,"  cried  the  laird.  "  Indeed,  you'll  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  Do  you  think  I'd  trust  you  with 

213 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


the  pounds,  and  doubt  you  about  the  sixpences? 
You'll  count  it  when  you  have  nothing  better  to  do, 
and  not  a  minute  before." 

And  with  an  easy  air  of  affluence  he  thrust  the 
bag  from  him.  None  looking  on  would  have  guessed 
that  it  was  as  a  slice  of  his  very  heart. 

When  Mr.  Ogilvie  left  the  invalid's  chamber,  Con- 
nie, who  had  somehow  scented  the  visit,  lay  cunningly 
in  wait,  Kitty  innocently  bearing  her  company.  Her 
eyes  opened  at  sight  of  the  bag,  and  with  a  little 
catch  of  the  breath,  which  happily  passed  unnoticed, 
she  asked  what  it  contained. 

"  Only  a  little  investment  of  Captain  MacLean's," 
her  father  answered.  "  By  the  way,  if  Kitty  and  your- 
self are  disengaged,  you  might  count  it  for  me.  Mr. 
MacLean,  who  is  the  captain's  agent,  is  not  sure  of  the 
amount." 

Connie  took  the  bag,  thrilling  lest  her  perturbation 
should  betray  itself,  and  the  girls  hastened  to  her  own 
particular  room.  There  in  a  singular  palpitation  she 
emptied  the  contents  on  the  table.  These  consisted  of 
gold,  silver,  and  copper,  and  Scotch  bank-notes 
crumpled  into  the  similitude  of  waste  paper. 

"  My,"  Kitty  cried,  "  Mr.  MacLean's  bank  does 
pay  in  odd  assortments.  Why  doesn't  he  write  a 
cheque  like  an  ordinary  Christian  ?  " 

Connie  did  not  answer.  "  Let's  count,"  she  said 
instead. 

First  they  counted  the  gold,  marking  the  amount 
on  the  back  of  an  old  envelope ;  then  in  the  same 
manner  the  silver,  the  copper,  and  the  bank-notes. 

"  Add  it  up,  Kit,"  said  Connie,  her  own  mental 
state  being  untrustworthy. 

Kitty  settled  as  to  a  vexing  problem  in  the  higher 
mathematics. 

214 


A  SUM  IN  AEITHMETIO 


"  My,"  she  cried,  struggling  helplessly  between  the 
farthings  and  the  pence,  "  how  John  Bull  does  muddle 
up  things !  If  he  don't  make  love  better  than  he  fig- 
ures, how  does  he  ever  get  to  the  point?  This  is 
worse  than  awful.  It's  easy  enough  when  you've  only 
to  add  and  tick  off  two  by  our  system.  Let  me  see, 
you  divide  by  twenty,  twelve,  and  four,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  answered  Connie,  "  you  divide  by  four, 
twelve,  and  twenty.  You  see  four  shillings  one  dollar, 
five  dollars  one  pound  sterling,  not  taking  the  eccen- 
tricities of  exchange  into  account." 

"  That  don't  help  much  so  far's  I  can  see,"  rejoined 
Kitty,  her  brows  knit  in  desperation. 

"  You'll  give  yourself  wrinkles  if  you  pucker  your 
face  like  that,  dear,"  Connie  commented. 

"  Enough  to  give  any  one  wrinkles,"  retorted  Kitty. 
"  Here  are  three  single  farthings  and  four  separate 
halfpence.  What  do  you  make  of  that  ?  " 

Connie  leashed  her  emotions  and  stooped  to  arith- 
metic. 

"  Four  twos  are  eight  and  three  are  eleven,"  she 
answered  after  a  profound  effort 

"  How  do  you  get  that  ? "  inquired  Kitty,  who 
usually  calculated  in  round  figures  and  disdained  any- 
thing meaner  than  a  dollar. 

"  You've  got  four  halfpence  or  ha'pennies,  haven't 
you?  That's  eight  quarters." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  isn't,"  cried  Kitty.  "  Eight  quarters 
are  two  dollars." 

"  We're  not  talking  of  twenty-five  cent  pieces,"  re- 
turned Connie.  "  Four  ha'pennies  make  eight  quar- 
ters or  farthings,  and  three  more  quarters  make 
eleven." 

"  Oh,  do  they  ?  Well,  then,  now  you've  got  your 
eleven,  how  are  you  to  divide  it  by  twenty?  How 

215 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


many  pounds  sterling  in  eleven  farthings?  Con,  it 
don't  seem  right,  somehow." 

"  Hardly,  dear,"  Connie  owned. 

They  took  a  piece  of  fresh  paper,  and  by  dint  of 
various  experiments  in  compound  addition,  subtrac- 
tion, and  division,  finally  arrived  at  a  result,  which, 
with  some  hesitation,  they  accepted  as  correct.  Con- 
nie studied  the  figures  with  an  infinite  pity.  Poor 
laird!  Poor  Captain  MacLean! 

"  Kitty,"  she  said  all  at  once,  "  get  a  pen  and  ink, 
and  we'll  mark  it  down." 

But  no  pen  was  in  the  room,  Mrs.  Ogilvie  having 
evidently  carried  off  the  last,  and  Kitty  went  in  search 
of  one.  As  soon  as  she  was  gone  Connie  rose,  stepped 
softly  to  the  door,  and  glanced  out ;  then  turning  swift- 
ly, she  opened  a  cabinet,  drew  out  a  drawer,  lifted  a 
purse  of  gold,  and  counting  hurriedly,  put  a  handful 
with  the  laird's  store.  When  Kitty  returned  she  was 
gazing  out  of  the  window. 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  she  said,  turning  graciously, 
and  wrote  down  a  figure  which  Kitty  did  not  see. 


216 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

GROUSE   SHOOTING,    WITH   SOME   HINTS    ON    RICHES 

THE  day  of  all  days  in  the  year  to  the  Highlands 
again  came  round — the  day  on  which  sporting  million- 
aires are  proud  to  go  forth  arrayed  as  ghillies,  for 
which  legislators  cease  their  babbling  and  leave  the 
nation  to  its  fate,  which  sees  the  rampant  cockney  sniff- 
ing among  the  moors.  A  fortnight  the  railways  from 
the  south  had  kept  overdriven  traffic  superintendents 
in  one  long  nightmare ;  a  week  they  had  been  in  a  viru- 
lent congestion.  At  the  London  termini  facing  north 
mobs  of  lackeys,  sweating,  blasphemous  porters,  dis- 
tracted inspectors  and  guards  dodged  violently  among 
piled-up  barrows  and  stacks  of  gun  cases — all  for  the 
sake  of  "  kittling  the  muir  fowls'  tails." 

The  twelfth,  as  it  chanced,  fell  on  a  Monday,  and 
all  Sunday  the  Highlands  lay  in  a  hushed  expectancy. 
Everybody  was  aware  of  an  electric  brooding  in  the 
air.  The  shepherd  felt  it  as  4ie  leaned  on  his  staff, 
looking  up  purple  mountain  sides;  the  gamekeeper 
was  acutely  conscious  of  it  as  he  made  the  final  round 
of  his  kennels ;  it  affected  the  preacher  as  he  thundered 
from  the  pulpit  to  strangers  who  wondered,  when  they 
gave  the  discourse  any  attention  at  all,  if  he  could 
possibly  mean  what  he  said.  The  day  before  city 
journalists  had  discussed,  with  the  miraculous  omnis- 
cience of  the  Press,  the  "  prospects  of  the  twelfth  " 
15  217 


A  SON   OF   GAD 


as  a  question  more  vitally  important  than  wars  and 
parliaments ;  and  from  the  Pass  of  Birnam  to  John  o' 
Groat's  men  and  women  talked  grouse,  grouse,  and 
nothing  but  grouse. 

The  Dunveagle  party,  having  the  fever  smartly, 
was  out  almost  with  the  sun.  It  included  besides  the 
host  an  English  railway  magnate,  a  London  financier 
of  international  relations,  the  Hon.  Job  Shilbeck  and 
Mr.  Jeff  Dunbar,  worthily  representing  the  greatest  of 
republics;  Captain  MacLean  and  Mr.  Rollo  Linnie. 
The  elder  Linnie  had  promised  to  take  a  gun  (his  own 
moor  being  let  for  sake  of  the  i  s.  d.),  but  was  pre- 
vented by  an  attack  of  the  aristocratic  disease  espe- 
cially eulogised  by  Lord  Chesterfield.  The  doctor 
would  have  called  it  rheumatism,  but  Mr.  Linnie  in- 
sisted on  suppressed  gout,  and  suppressed  gout  it  was, 
since  the  man  of  science  depending  on  fads  and  van- 
ities cannot  afford  to  be  headstrong. 

The  enthusiasm  infected  both  sexes,  old  and  young. 
Not  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  Connie  wished  herself 
a  man,  that  she  might  do  as  men  did,  and  Kitty  too 
was  inclined  to  be  envious  over  the  privileges  of  a 
barbarous  sex.  Even  Mr.  Ogilvie's  heart  beat  a  little 
higher  and  faster  than  usual,  for  whatever  moralists 
may  say,  a  man  finds  first  experience  of  the  sport  of 
nobles  on  his  own  moor  exceedingly  sweet. 

Mr.  Shilbeck  alone  smoked  and  tramped  without 
an  extra  throb  of  the  pulse,  save  what  came  of  bodily 
exertion.  He  had  never  before  set  foot  on  a  grouse 
moor,  and  seemed  indifferent  whether  he  ever  set  foot 
on  one  again.  He  got  into  knickerbockers  and  gaiters 
purely  as  a  concession  to  the  foolishness  of  fashion, 
expecting  little,  and  getting  according  to  expectation. 
He  was  neither  disappointed  nor  envious  of  those  who 
had  better  luck. 

218 


GROUSE  SHOOTING 


"  Don't  seem  to  get  the  hang  of  this  thing,"  he  re- 
marked genially  to  his  attendant  ghillie,  when  he 
had  missed  his  bird  for  the  twentieth  time  in  succession. 
"  Don't  seem  to  hit  'em  even  by  chance."  And  took 
the  failure  so  little  to  heart  that  next  minute  he  was 
working  an  abstruse  calculation  on  his  shirt  cuff,  never 
so  much  as  glancing  up  when  a  covey  whirred  beside 
him.  The  ghillie  reported  that  assuredly  he  had  a  bee 
in  his  bonnet,  since  only  a  man  with  a  fearful  buzzing 
in  the  upper  storey  could  scrape  with  a  pencil  on  clean 
shirt  linen  while  the  grouse  were  rising  all  about  him. 

Three  days  Mr.  Shilbeck  held  out  in  stolid  tolera- 
tion of  the  fatigue  of  incessant  tramping  and  the  dis- 
appointment of  futile  shooting.  On  the  fourth  day 
near  the  time  of  luncheon  he  threw  himself  on  a  bank 
of  brilliant  bell-heather,  and  looked  half-defiantly,  half- 
pityingly,  at  his  misguided  friends,  blazing  away  right 
and  left.  Mr.  Linnie,  who  chanced  to  be  near,  sat  with 
him  out  of  sympathy. 

"Say,"  remarked  Mr.  Shilbeck,  mopping  a  hot 
forehead,  "  I'm  beginnin'  to  feel  as  if  I  had  just  enough 
of  this  kind  of  foolin'.  Reckon  it  ain't  just  what  it's 
s'posed  to  be." 

"  There  may  be  better  things  if  one  only  knew 
them,"  returned  Mr.  Linnie. 

"  I  should  smile,"  rejoined  Mr.  Shilbeck  enigmat- 
ically. 

"  Money-making,  for  instance,"  suggested  Rollo, 
choosing  that  subject  as  one  likely  to  be  agreeable  to 
his  companion  and  not  objectionable  to  himself. 

Slowly  and  with  the  fine  care  of  a  connoisseur  Mr. 
Shilbeck  bit  the  end  off  a  cigar. 

"That's  one  of  'em,"  he  said.  "Anyway,  it's  a 
rational  employment  for  human  beings.  I  don't  call  it 
rational  to  go  tramping  the  life  out  of  yourself  up 

219 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


hills  and  across  bogs  after  darned  things  ye  can't  hit 
anyway.     I  think  I'll  vamoose." 

The  word  being  new  to  Mr.  Linnie,  his  eyes  opened 
for  enlightenment. 

"  I'll  go  back  to  Noo  York,"  explained  Mr.  Shil- 
beck,  "  and  take  a  turn  to  Washin'ton  to  put  the 
screw  on  one  or  two  congressmen,  just  to  let  'em 
know  I'm  alive.  Make  a  few  dollars,  you  understand. 
It's  the  kind  of  sport  that  suits  my  constitootion.  Yes, 
sir." 

He  wiped  his  mouth,  struck  a  match,  and  began 
to  smoke. 

"  It's  the  great  national  sport  in  America,  isn't  it?  " 
Rollo  asked. 

"  Making  dollars  ?  "  responded  Shilbeck  blandly. 
"  Yes,  sir,  the  people  of  the  U-nited  States  believe  in 
dollars.  Dollars  made  'em ;  dollars  keep  'em  goin'. 
George  Washin'ton  gave  the  U-nited  States  a  start; 
smart  man  George  Washin'ton,  though  he  died  poor, 
which  is  contrary  to  the  American  spirit.  No  chance 
to  make  his  pile,  ye  see,  bein'  most  of  his  time  lickin' 
the  British,  and  he  turned  'em  out,  you  bet." 

"  Certainly  he  managed  that,"  Rollo  admitted. 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  turned  'em  out,"  repeated  Job, 
"  though  you  needn't  be  takin'  on  'bout  it  now.  That 
gave  the  country  a  start,  and  the  people  of  the  U-nited 
States  have  gone  on  takin'  advantage  of  that  fact  ever 
since.  Already  they've  made  themselves  the  richest 
nation  on  earth,  and  they're  only  beginnin',  just  be- 
ginnin'  proper.  In  the  future,  sir,"  continued  Mr. 
Shilbeck  prophetically,  "  the  stars  and  stripes  and  the 
American  eagle  will  be  the  universal  emblem  of  wealth. 
Mark  me,  the  U-nited  States  are  stretchin'  their  arms 
abroad  for  a  scoop  that'll  make  the  poky  nations  of 
Europe  sit  up,  and  Asia  wonder  if  the  world's  bust." 

220 


SOME  HINTS  ON  RICHES 

He  stroked  his  goatee  complacently. 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  American  bird  is  spreadin'  its  wings, 
and  no  man  can  say  where  it  won't  light ;  no,  sir,  not 
if  he  was  the  lineal  descendant  of  the  whole  blessed 
tribe  of  prophets.  A  few  weeks  ago,  at  a  London 
dinner  party,  I  counted  seven  American  millionaires 
with  their  confidential  agents.  You  don't  fancy  they 
crossed  the  Atlantic  for  their  health?  They're  over 
here  spyin'  out  the  land  like  Jacob." 

"  Moses,  I  think,"  put  in  Mr.  Linnie  modestly. 

"  Well,  we  ain't  goin'  to  quarrel  'bout  names,"  re- 
sponded Job.  "  It's  some  time  since  I  looked  up  my 
history  books,  but  maybe  you're  right.  That  don't 
matter.  The  point  is  that  those  seven  millionaires 
are  over  here  on  a  little  prospectin'  expedition ;  yes, 
sir,  as  I  said,  spyin'  out  the  land,  and  they're  goin'  to 
possess  it,  too,  sure's  the  Israelites  grabbed  Canaan. 
Up  to  the  present  time  the  high-flyin'  Britisher,  when 
he  found  himself  stone-broke,  has  been  in  the  habit 
of  importin'  American  wives,  for  the  sake  of  the  capi- 
tal attached.  The  thing  took  the  fancy  of  our  girls, 
because  it  was  thought  toney  to  have  a  handle  to  your 
name,  and  sail  in  before  kings  and  such,  and  a  good 
deal  of  capital  has  left  the  U-nited  States  in  that  way. 
But  it's  beginnin'  to  come  over  here  in  other  ways, 
and  for  other  purposes  than  to  keep  dead-broke  lords 
goin'  the  rig.  You're  young,  Mr.  Linnie,"  continued 
Mr.  Shilbeck  expansively,  "  and  long  before  you  need 
trouble  buyin'  lotions  to  prevent  baldness  and  grey 
hair,  you'll  find  Amurican  capital  controllin'  all  your 
best  payin'  industries ;  Amurican  electric  cars  carryin' 
your  people ;  Amurican  ships  carryin'  your  goods ; 
Amurican  factories  hummin'  in  your  towns ;  Amurican 
hotels  and  restirants  at  your  street  corners ;  Amurican 
brains  in  your  best  offices.  We've  been  feedin'  ye 

221 


A  SON   OF  GAD 


for  a  considerable  while,  and  now  we're  makin'  ar- 
rangements for  running  the  whole  show.  Once  on  a 
time  the  U-nited  States  were  a  colony  of  England, 
now  England's  becomin'  a  colony  of  the  U-nited 
States.  The  eldest  child's  comin'  back  to  make  things 
hum.  Men  like  Ogilvie  there  are  returnin'  to  stir  up 
your  British  fossils,  and  they're  goin'  to  succeed,  too, 
and  don't  you  forget  it." 

"  Mr.  Ogilvie,"  said  Rollo,  "  is  one  of  America's 
most  successful  men,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  If  you  get  his  autograph  in  the  right  place  on  a 
cheque  on  the  First  National  Bank  of  the  Republic  for 
twenty  million  dollars,  you  may  accept  it  as  good," 
answered  Mr.  Shilbeck. 

Mr.  Rollo  Linnie  blinked  as  if  suddenly  dazzled. 

"And  Mr.  Dunbar?"  he  asked,  in  a  tremor  of 
excitement. 

"  You  mean  Jeff's  old  man  ?  Likewise  good  for 
the  amount  stated,  or  any  other  to  which  he  puts  his 
name,"  was  the  reply. 

Rollo  drew  a  long  breath  under  the  quizzical  gaze 
of  Job. 

"  But  there's  something  of  a  difference  between 
'em,"  Mr.  Shilbeck  explained,  "  a  pretty  considerable 
difference,  and  it's  this — one  has  only  a  daughter, 
t'other  has  a  son  and  a  daughter." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  Rollo,  lighting  a 
cigarette  to  hide  a  momentary  confusion. 

"  No,"  returned  Job  meaningly.  "  Well,  put  it  in 
this  way.  S'pose  I  was  young  and  tol'rably  good  look- 
in',  and  wanted  a  soft  snap,  what  in  this  country  you'd 
perhaps  call  formin'  family  ties  on  the  dowry  principle, 
I'd  figure  it  out  to  myself  like  this — '  Dunbar,  got  a 
son  and  daughter,  therefore  divides  his  pile  in  two; 
Ogilvie,  daughter  only  and  no  son,  disposes  of  his  in 

222 


SOME  HINTS  ON  RICHES 

one  lot ;'  and  havin'  figured  it  out,  I  reckon  I'd  lay  my 
accounts  and  go  in  bald-headed." 

"  Go  in  to  win,  I  suppose  ?  "  remarked  Mr.  Linnie, 
with  a  fluttering  sensation  in  the  breast. 

"  Exactly  so,"  replied  Job.  "  Go  in  to  win ;  and 
supposin'  it  was  just  a  little  dicker  in  dollars  I  was 
after — affection  bein'  counted  to  come  in  later  on,  you 
understand — I'd  tackle  the  undivided  pile  first,  puttin' 
on  my  best  drawin'-room  manner.  I'd  be  mighty 
careful  about  that,  for  its  worth  a  big  start  in  the  kind 
of  handicap  we're  speakin'  of.  You  see,  it's  mostly  a 
matter  of  looks  with  a  girl,  and  if  the  outside  of  a 
man's  all  right  and  slick,  the  rest  don't  count.  She 
can't  have  a  look  at  the  inside  of  his  head  to  see  what's 
there,  and  she  don't  know  anything  about  moral  qual- 
ities. So  she  just  takes  him  as  he  stands,  like  an  article 
bought  at  auction.  Well,  I'd  lay  my  accounts  for 
number  one ;  but  that  failin'  I'd  go  for  number  two, 
which  in  this  case  would  be  good  enough  for  any 
or'nary  man,  I  reckon." 

"  That's  a  very  mercenary  view  of  the  thing,"  Rollo 
commented,  his  eyes  glittering  with  interest. 

"  I  was  takin'  it  as  a  business  transaction,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Shilbeck.  "  Of  course,  if  you  want  flum- 
mery you  can  have  it,  though  I  don't  take  much  stock 
in  that  kind  of  thing  myself.  I  ain't  denyin'  that  to 
trot  a  girl  round,  proud  to  show  your  friends  she's 
good-lookin',  is  an  additional  satisfaction;  but  take 
you  my  word  for  it,  it's  the  amount  attached  that's  in 
most  people's  minds,  not  the  girl's  looks." 

"  But  not  every  one  can  go  in  as  you  say,  Mr.  Shil- 
beck, with  a  chance  of  winning,"  said  Rollo. 

"  That's  so,  of  course,"  Job  owned  reflectively.  "  I 
reckon  girls  are  the  most  curious  works  of  nature.  It's 
impossible  to  say  when  you  have  'em,  that's  a  fact. 

223 


A  SON  OF  GA  D 


Skittish  ain't  the  word  for  'em.  An  idea  gets  into  a 
girl's  head,  and  if  it  pleases  her  all  the  surgery  in  the 
United  States  won't  extract  it.  There's  a  rhyme  I 
came  across  somewhere  'bout  convincin'  a  woman 
against  her  will,  she'll  hold  the  same  opinion  still,  or 
words  to  that  effect.  Po'try  scores  there.  Let  me  tell 
you  something.  A  friend  of  mine  in  Noo  York  had  a 
daughter  that  he  was  just  dead  gone  on,  handsome, 
best  of  education,  European  travel,  and  all  the  rest — 
just  a  beauty.  Well,  he  was  all  his  spare  time  plan- 
nin'  her  future  and  the  fine  man  she'd  marry — none 
of  yer  common  or'nary  hoppers  'bout  town,  but  a 
genoowine  article  of  the  right  sort.  Well,  when  he  was 
plannin'  all  this,  what  does  she  go  and  do  ?  Why, 
sir,  she  goes  and  gets  religion — gets  it  pretty  bad  too." 
Mr.  Shilbeck  spoke  as  if  religion  were  an  infectious 
disease,  to  be  caught  like  whooping-cough  or  the 
measles.  "  Yes,  pretty  bad,"  he  repeated.  "  Next 
thing  she  was  teachin'  Sunday-school  and  layin'  off 
'bout  bein'  good  and  loving  our  neighbour  as  our- 
selves, and  all  that.  Next  step  was  to  take  up  with 
the  passon  that  ran  the  Sunday-school,  ex-dry-goods 
clerk  that  got  religion  kind  of  sudden  too.  Imagine 
a  bear  rampin'  around  with  a  sore  head ;  that  was  her 
father.  Was  it  any  good?  No,  sir.  She  married  her 
passon,  and  after  a  while  stopped  layin'  off  'bout  lovin' 
our  neighbours.  'Pears  she  wouldn't  have  anybody 
lovin'  the  passon  but  herself.  Then  the  old  man  dies, 
and  the  passon,  makin'  out  he'd  got  a  good  thing,  shut 
up  shop,  and  went  in  for  yachts  and  racehorses.  By- 
and-by  he  crosses  to  this  side  and  lives  like  a  prince, 
supported  by  his  wife,  European  style.  No,"  added 
Mr.  Shilbeck  oracularly,  "  ye  never  can  tell  what  a 
girl  will  do,  nor  what  she'll  fancy.  She's  as  hard  to  pin 
to  one  leadin'  idea  as  a  candidate  for  the  presidency." 

224 


SOME  HINTS  ON  RICHES 

His  eyes  wandered  over  the  moorland  to  his  fellow- 
sportsmen.  Norman  had  just  brought  down  a  brace, 
a  circumstance  which  attracted  Mr.  Shilbeck's  atten- 
tion. 

"  Now  there's  Captain  Mac  Lean,"  he  went  on,  pur- 
suing his  own  train  of  thought.  "  Ain't  got  a  cent,  I 
believe,  but  he's  got  a  way  with  him,  and  he's  got  tone. 
I  'low  the  British  army  gives  tone,  and  in  fact,"  af- 
firmed Mr.  Shilbeck,  "  he's  just  the  sort  of  man  for 
a  girl  to  go  and  fall  in  love  with.  If  I  was  Jeff,  I'd 
see  a  certain  contract  completed  with  just  as  little 
delay  as  possible." 

"  Jeff,"  repeated  Rollo,  wincing  in  spite  of  him- 
self ;  "  is  he — has  he  aspirations  then  ?  " 

"  Aspirations !  "  echoed  Mr.  Shilbeck.  "  Come 
with  the  engagement  ring  in  his  pocket;  showed  it 
to  me  one  day — half-hoop  of  diamonds  in  the  best  Tif- 
fany style,  just  beautiful.  Oh,  Jeff  ain't  got  any  flies 
on  him  when  it  comes  to  joolery,  and  his  old  man's 
'bout  as  cute  as  they  make  'em.  Jeff's  to  arrange  a 
sort  of  family  combine,  you  understand.  There  ain't 
any  secret  about  it.  Noo  York  expects  it,  and  I  don't 
see  why  Noo  York  should  be  disappointed.  All  the 
same,  if  I  was  Jeff  I'd  be  lookin'  to  the  clevis-bolt. 
Yes,  sir,  I'd  make  that  half-hoop  of  diamonds  toe  the 
mark." 

Mr.  Linnie  grinned  inanely.  He  had  forgotten  the 
interruption  of  his  sport;  he  was  painfully  intent  on 
this  startling  revelation. 

"  Sir,"  continued  Mr.  Shilbeck,  with  great  empha- 
sis, "  if  Jeff  went  and  lost  that  girl,  old  Giles  Dunbar 
would  raise  hell.  Yes,  sir,  and  if  I  was  Jeff,  I'd  attend 
to  business  instead  of  goin'  tootin'  in  a  motor  with  a 
peuky  Frenchman,  as  if  there  wasn't  a  girl  'bout  the 
place.  Natriily  she  don't  like  it." 

225 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


"  Ah ! "  said  Rollo,  paling  in  the  tumult  Mr.  Shil- 
beck  had  raised.  "  And  his  sister,  Miss  Dunbar,  is  she 
free?" 

"  Stands  to  reason,"  answered  Job,  "  that  Giles 
Dunbar's  daughter  ain't  without  admirers.  Gilt  edges 
are  generally  good  on  any  market.  But  in  this  world 
nothing's  impossible  except  bringin'  the  dead  to  life 
again,  and  makin'  sure  of  happiness ;  and  if  a  young 
fellow  that's  got  a  tol'rable  appearance  and  his  head 
right  screwed  on  was  to  look  spry —  Hullo!  there's 
lunch." 

And  he  rose  to  join  his  friends,  Mr.  Linnie  follow- 
ing with  no  great  alacrity. 


226 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

PLAYING   FOR  A   GREAT   PRIZE 

FOR  the  rest  of  that  day  Mr.  Linnie  seemed  to  be 
idiotically  bent  on  ruining  his  reputation  as  a  sports- 
man. 

"  Too  much  whisky  at  lunch,"  his  attendant  said  to 
himself.  "  Ay,  it  must  be  too  much  whisky,"  and  kept 
discreetly  to  the  rear.  "  They've  gone  and  primed 
young  Linnie  till  he  can  hardly  see,"  he  told  a  fellow- 
ghillie.  "  There,  just  look  at  that,"  as  Rollo  blazed 
with  both  barrels.  "  Two  shots  and  not  so  much  as  a 
feather.  It's  not  safe.  For  God's  sake  take  care  of 
yourself." 

Mr.  Linnie  was,  indeed,  dangerous  and  intoxicated, 
but  not  with  the  liquor  which  ghillies  envied  him. 
With  a  sudden  and  painful  acuteness  he  had  realised 
that  a  crisis  was  upon  him,  that  if  he  was  to  make  a 
bold  bid  for  fortune  the  time  had  come. 

Mr.  Shilbeck's  words  rang  in  his  ears,  at  once 
trumpet-call  and  warning.  "  If  you  get  his  signature 
to  a  cheque  for  twenty  millions,  you  may  accept  it  as 
good."  Heavens!  twenty  millions,  a  veritable  gold 
mine,  dug,  minted,  and  put  away  ready  for  use.  The 
thought  affected  Rollo  in  a  manner  which  more  than 
justified  the  ghillie's  deduction.  That  was  the  trum- 
pet-call. The  warning  about  Jeff  and  the  captain  was 
less  exhilarating.  Jeff  might  be  tolerated,  but  damn 

227 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


the  captain.  Why  was  that  interloper  allowed  there  at 
all?  The  rivalry  with  Jeff  was  legitimate,  if  it  could 
not  be  called  welcome.  In  his  own  mind  he  turned 
Mr.  Dunbar  over  and  over,  analysed  him,  took  his  di- 
mensions, weighed  him  in  the  balance  and  reluctantly 
admitted  his  claims.  His  lot  as  the  son  of  a  multi-mil- 
lionaire was  one  which  made  Rollo's  mouth  water,  like 
the  thought  of  a  luscious  pear.  To  have  coin  for  the 
gratification  of  every  conceivable  fad,  foible  and  taste, 
however  rare,  however  expensive;  to  be  able  to  pro- 
cure the  costliest  the  world  offered  in  yacht,  race- 
horses, motors,  or  whatever  else  in  devices  of  pleasure 
a  fertile  invention  might  suggest ;  to  dictate  at  will  to 
tailors,  jewellers,  and  wine  merchants  without  thought 
of  the  time  of  reckoning,  conferred  privileges  which 
Mr.  Rollo  Linnie,  as  an  amateur  of  fashion,  readily 
recognised.  Moreover,  though  at  Dunveagle  on  a  ten- 
der and  momentous  mission,  Mr.  Dunbar  was  not  vio- 
lently nor  fatuously  in  love,  and  if  he  missed  his  chance, 
why,  then  the  possibilities  to  others  were  the  more 
glorious. 

Next  minute,  however,  Mr.  Linnie  ground  his  teeth 
over  something  mentioned  incidentally  by  Shilbeck — 
the  infernal  fickleness  of  the  feminine  heart.  Some- 
where in  the  course  of  his  reading  he  had  come 
across  a  saying  of  Voltaire,  that  sense  is  like  a  beard 
and  women  have  none.  They  twisted  like  ser- 
pents, changed  like  the  chameleon,  and  often  chose 
like  fools.  "  It's  too  true,"  he  reflected,  thinking  of 
personal  observations  of  such  a  temper;  "too 
true." 

He  went  on  with  his  shooting  as  in  a  vexed  dream, 
and  ended  the  day  in  a  nervous  fever.  In  the  evening 
he  bade  a  curt  good-bye,  and  went  off  without  going 
near  the  castle.  He  had  plans  to  mature,  and  he  could 

228 


PLAYING  FOE  A   GEEAT  PEIZE 

do  that  best  driving  meditatively  in  the  odorous 
August  dusk. 

The  issue  was  a  series  of  artfully  arranged  calls. 
Among  the  blessings  conferred  by  nature  upon  Rollo 
was  a  paternal  aunt,  Miss  Jemima  Linnie,  and  a  sister, 
Miss  Grace.  The  elder  maiden,  though  already  past 
the  fiftieth  mile-stone  in  life's  pilgrimage,  had  all  the 
zest  and  more  than  the  frolic  of  youth,  dressed  like  five- 
and-twenty,  maintained  a  coquettish  archness  in  con- 
verse with  men,  a  genial  sympathy  with  their  failings, 
and  a  wondrous  receptivity  of  heart  in  regard  to  their 
fancies.  She  was  troubled  by  a  growing  massiveness 
of  girth,  detrimental  to  the  spirit  of  sprightliness ;  but 
this  tendency  to  surplusage  of  body  she  valiantly  com- 
bated by  hooping  and  binding  so  rigidly  that  she 
moved  as  if  encased  in  tight-fitting  steel  corselet,  sat 
bolt  upright,  like  a  cask  on  end,  and  breathed  as  if  she 
were  in  a  state  of  chronic  agitation.  But  what  she 
lacked  in  ease  and  lightness  of  figure  she  made  up  in 
vivacity  of  manner.  From  the  first  she  was  softly 
interested  in  Mr.  Ogilvie,  and  more  than  once  won- 
dered why  he  did  not  think  of  installing  a  new  mistress 
at  Dunveagle. 

"  Every  head  of  a  house  should  be  married,"  Miss 
Jemima  had  said  privately.  "  It's  a  duty  he  owes  to 
society ;  and  I'm  sure  every  man  who  can  afford  it 
would  be  greatly  the  better  of  a  wife  to  look  after  him." 
Had  Miss  Linnie  opened  her  whole  heart  she  would 
have  added,  "  And  I'm  perfectly  certain  every  woman 
would  be  greatly  the  better  of  a  husband." 

Sometimes  in  the  hour  of  dreams  that  comes  even 
to  stout  spinsters  of  fifty,  she  allowed  herself  to  shape 
the  domestic  economy  of  Dunveagle,  and  take  per- 
sonal charge  of  the  happiness  of  its  master.  Her  niece 
was  half  her  age,  fair,  freckled,  alert  for  the  main 

229 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


chance,  and  plenteously  endowed  with  the  family  re- 
gard for  number  one. 

Rollo  accused  them  of  neglecting  the  Ogilvies, 
urged  a  more  neighbourly  spirit,  and  packed  them 
off  to  their  duty.  So  it  came  to  pass  that,  while  the 
gentlemen  shot  grouse  on  the  moor,  the  ladies  drank 
tea  in  the  drawing-room,  "  sized  one  another  up,"  in 
Kitty's  shrewd  words,  and  passed  judgment  on  a  whole 
county. 

Miss  Jemima  knew  all  things  and  all  people  worth 
knowing,  the  taste  and  inclination  of  every  man  of 
note,  and  especially  the  correct  ages  of  ladies  who  got 
to  "  a  certain  age,"  and  stopped  till  it  became  con- 
venient to  advance.  As  she  remembered  when  many 
of  them  were  in  short  frocks,  her  smiling  assurance,  "  I 
know  exactly,"  was  as  damaging  as  a  birth-certificate. 

The  impression  she  produced  was  not  perhaps  such 
as  she  designed  or  imagined. 

"  Poor  old  thing,"  Kitty  remarked  confidentially  to 
Connie ;  "  I  guess  she's  herself  got  to  the  point  at 
which  a  woman  takes  a  turn  backward.  If  she's  fifty 
now,  how  much  younger  will  she  be  in  five  years 
hence?  It's  a  fearful  fight  with  old  age." 

A  dinner-party  at  Teviot  Hall  cemented  a  friend- 
ship auspiciously  begun  in  London  and  developed  by 
tea-drinking  at  Dunveagle ;  and  then  came  the  golden 
opportunity  to  which  the  astute  Rollo  had  been  cun- 
ningly leading  up.  At  Aberfourie  there  is  a  yearly 
gathering  for  Highland  sports,  the  most  notable  in  the 
county.  Rollo  was  so  fortunate  as  to  be  on  the  com- 
mittee of  management,  and  at  the  appropriate  time  he 
took  care  that  the  millionaire  of  Dunveagle  had  a  place 
of  honour  among  the  patrons.  There  followed  an  in- 
vitation to  the  ladies  for  the  games  during  the  day  and 
the  ball  in  the  evening.  Connie  hung  back,  but  Kitty 

230 


PLAYING  FOB  A  GREAT  PEIZE 

pressed,  and  Rollo  was  transported  by  an  acceptance. 
He  saw  twenty  millions  drawing  perceptibly  nearer; 
he  saw  presumptuous  interlopers  thrust  out  into  the 
cold.  In  one  thing  unhappily  he  failed,  in  spite  of  his 
protests;  Captain  MacLean,  in  virtue  of  his  military 
fame,  was  invited  to  be  one  of  the  judges.  But  Rollo 
vowed  with  himself  to  make  that  a  matter  of  no  mo- 
ment in  the  arrangement  for  the  party  from  Dun- 
veagle. 


231 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

AN   OLYMPIAN   FESTIVAL 

ON  the  festive  day  Aberfourie  breakfasted  to  the 
merry  din  of  bugles  and  pipe  music.  From  early 
morning  the  country  folk  flocked  in,  a  picturesque, 
characteristic  throng,  some  in  gigs,  some  on  horse- 
back, but  most  on  foot,  for  lofty  and  low  alike  made 
holiday  in  honour  of  "  the  Games."  The  railway  too 
contributed  its  quota,  competitors  in  the  coming  tour- 
nament for  most  part,  champion  athletes,  prize  dancers, 
and  musicians,  faded  hangers  on,  and,  lest  the  fun 
should  flag,  a  leaven  of  the  quick-witted,  nimble-fin- 
gered artists,  whose  field  of  operations  is  other  people's 
pockets.. 

A  little  before  noon  the  carriages  of  the  quality  be- 
gan to  glitter  and  jingle  in  all  varieties  of  splendour; 
here  a  duke's,  there  an  earl's,  yonder  a  baronet's,  and 
between  the  flashing  turn-out  of  mercantile  or  financial 
prince,  for  the  present  seeking  the  mystic  glory  that 
comes  of  leasing  Highland  grouse  moors  and  deer  for- 
ests. The  waggonettes  and  dog-carts  of  the  smaller 
gentry  furnished  the  humbler  elements  of  foil  and  con- 
trast ;  and  the  whole,  when  at  last  the  converging  point 
was  reached,  presented  a  spectacle  of  Roman  pomp 
and  bustle.  Indeed,  with  but  a  slight  change  of  cir- 
cumstance, one  might  have  fancied  all  this  brave 
pageantry  a  prelude  to  the  gladiatorial  contests  and 

232 


AN  OLYMPIAN  FESTIVAL 

chariot  races  that  once  made  the  populace  of  Rome 
drunk  with  excitement.  Here,  to  make  the  illusion 
of  semblance  closer,  rolled  the  lordly  Tay  (swollen  im- 
perceptibly by  the  Veagle),  to  which  the  presumptuous 
Roman  had  likened  his  muddy  Tiber;  here  was  the 
motley  crowd,  bronzed,  lusty,  and  hilariously  loud- 
voiced,  ready  for  any  revel;  above  all  here  were  the 
flashing  wheels,  the  splendid  horses,  dancing  under  the 
curb  in  all  the  pride  of  gay  trappings  and  faultless 
condition. 

The  rousing  clamour  of  bugles  from  four-in-hands 
and  the  criticism  passed  upon  the  coaches  of  greatness 
served  to  divert  attention  from  the  insignificant  ve- 
hicles which  crept  along,  like  poor  relations,  anxious 
only  to  escape  notice.  Among  these  was  the  Craig- 
enard  dog-cart,  with  Ian  Veg  on  the  driver's  seat,  the 
captain  by  his  side,  and  Alick  on  the  back  seat. 

They  were  all  in  native  dress,  which  is  to  say  kilts 
of  MacLean  tartan,  and  below  were  lan's  pipes,  a  pair 
of  dancing  shoes,  the  property  of  Alick,  and  a  stout, 
leather  case  of  portmanteau  size,  belonging  to  the  cap- 
tain. They  entered  the  field  unrecognised,  save  for 
official  salutations  to  the  captain,  and  next  minute  were 
lost  in  the  throng. 

Half  an  hour  later  there  wheeled  into  the  white- 
tented  field  an  equipage  which  instantly  became  a  cen- 
tre of  attraction  and  interest.  It  was  drawn  by  four 
gleaming  blacks,  their  necks  superbly  arched,  their 
rich  manes  tossing  royally  as  they  flung  their  heads, 
their  full,  undocked  tails  almost  sweeping  the  ground, 
their  richly  mounted  harness  sparkling  as  with  gems. 
On  the  box  erect  between  two  smiling  girls  sat  a  sable- 
faced  coachman  in  livery  of  green  and  gold,  handling 
his  mettlesome  team  with  the  ease  and  aplomb  of  the 
practised  whip.  That  he  was  proud  of  them  one  could 
16  233 


A   SON   or   GAD 


see  by  a  glance  at  the  dusky  face,  proud  of  their  shape, 
their  style,  their  mettle,  and  their  instant,  graceful 
obedience  to  his  touch.  The  ladies,  looking  down 
upon  the  curved  necks  and  quivering  ears,  were  also 
proud ;  for  God  has  created  few  finer  things  than  a  per- 
fect horse,  and  here  at  their  feet  were  four  perfect  ex- 
amples of  subtle  strength  and  grace. 

"  The  new  laird  of  Dunveagle,"  the  whisper  ran, 
and  the  crowd  pressed  to  examine  the  turn-out  of  a 
millionaire,  once  as  poor  as  themselves,  and  consider 
his  taste  in  coaches  and  horseflesh.  For  the  most  part 
the  gazers  were  dumb,  for  four  such  horses  had  never 
before  entered  Aberfourie  together,  and  the  face  of  the 
man  himself  was  a  matter  for  silent  wonder  and  study. 
A  cynic,  however,  found  his  tongue,  and  his  words, 
winged  with  sarcasm  as  it  seemed,  reached  the  mil- 
lionaire's ears. 

"  Umph ;  black  coachman,  black  horses ;  black's 
the  colour  for  gold.  Grand  taste." 

The  rich  man  turned  swiftly,  and  his  eye  fell  on  a 
battered  figure  within  a  foot  of  his  chariot  wheels.  It 
had  a  fiddle  under  its  arm,  and  its  face  bore  evidence 
of  many  sprees,  but  it  looked  up  saucily  out  of  its  red 
eyes.  It  was  but  a  glance  the  man  above  gave,  for 
what  have  millionaires  to  do  with  broken-down  fid- 
dlers? The  gleaming  blacks  passed  on,  champing 
their  bits ;  and  the  owner  of  the  fiddle  turned  suddenly 
at  a  touch  from  behind. 

"  Pocket  pickin'  so  early  in  the  day,"  he  cried, 
swinging  about.  "  Who's  that?  " 

"  There's  a  heap  in  your  pocket  worth  picking, 
Lauchie  Duff,  I'm  thinking,"  was  the  response. 

Lauchie's  face  beamed  in  spite  of  scars. 

"  Ow,  ow,  Ian  Veg !  "  he  cried,  wringing  the  hand 
held  out  to  him  like  a  forty-year-old  crony.  "  Who'd 

234 


AN  OLYMPIAN  FESTIVAL 

have  expected  such  a  sicht  for  sair  een?  And  how's 
the  pipes,  man,  how's  the  pipes?  " 

"  Oh,  just  about  as  well's  the  fiddle,  Lauchie," 
beamed  Ian. 

"  And  that's  as  sick  as  the  devil  after  a  bellyful  o' 
cauld  kail,"  was  the  response.  "  Ian  Veg,  men  o'  our 
persuasion's  no  owre  well  treated  by  a  godless  world. 
When  would  your  blowin'  and  my  scrapin'  get  us  a 
coach-and-four  like  the  ane  that's  just  passed,  d'ye 
think?  Dunveagle's  puttin'  on  style.  And  Duncan 
lookit  doon  as  if  he'd  never  laid  eyes  on  me  afore. 
Man,  I  fiddled  at  Jock  Ogilvie's  weddin'  wi'  Jean  Mel- 
drum  o'  the  whims ;  micht  have  had  Jean  mysel'  if  I'd 
likit.  But  God  in  His  Providence  never  made  me  a 
marryin'  man.  The  meesery  o'  my  friends  is  quite 
enough  for  me.  So  Jean  Meldrum  just  took  Jock 
Ogilvie,  and  ye  see  what's  happened.  She's  a  fine  lady 
the  day,  I'm  telt,  and  I'm — never  mind  what,  I'm  good 
for  a  gill  yet.  Where'll  we  go  ?  " 

Ian  protested  it  was  too  early  in  the  day  for  whisky, 
giving  as  a  reason  for  abstinence  that  he  expected  to 
do  a  little  piping  by-and-by. 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Mr.  Duff,  throwing  back  his  head  as 
if  sniffing  a  desire  on  lan's  part  to  pose  for  respecta- 
bility. 

"  So  you're  goin*  to  squeeze  the  auld  bags,  are  ye  ? 
And  you're  grown  fine  and  sober,  Ian,  since  that  time 
ye  drank  Mary  Ruah  into  glory.  Nae  doot,  ye've 
things  on  yer  conscience  like  the  rest  o'  us.  But  tell 
me  what's  the  auld  Dunveagle  doin'  hobnobbin'  wi' 
the  new  Dunveagle?  I  thought  he'd  have  cuttit  his 
throat  first." 

"  So  he  should,"  returned  Ian. 

"  That's  yer  opinion,  is  it  ?  "  said  Lauchie.  "  Faith, 
they  say  he  come  near  killin'  himsel'  one  day  no  long 

235 


A   SON   OF  GAD 


ago,  when  you  and  him  was  oot  thegither.  Both  on 
the  skite,  I  suppose." 

"  Sober's  you  are  this  minute,  Lauchie,"  Ian  re- 
plied. 

"  And  that's  a  great  deal  soberer  nor's  at  all  naetral 
or  agreeable,  Mr.  Mackern,"  was  the  rejoinder.  "  But, 
tell  me,  what's  wrang  wi'  the  laird — I  mean  the  auld 
ane?" 

Ian  made  an  eloquent  contortion  of  face,  indicating 
that  he  must  not  blab  in  a  public  place. 

"  Is  it  so  bad  as  that  ?  "  Lauchie  answered  sym- 
pathetically. "  Well,  there's  no  place  for  a  crack  like 
a  public-hoose.  Come !  "  And  he  bore  the  half-re- 
sisting Ian  off. 

Meanwhile  the  Dunveagle  drag  had  wheeled  into 
place,  and  the  party  alighted,  Mr.  Rollo  Linnie  receiv- 
ing them  graciously  on  behalf  of  the  committee. 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  the  fine  day  you've 
brought,"  he  said  comprehensively  to  Connie  and 
Kitty ;  "  I  think  you'll  see  good  sport." 

The  girls  expressed  their  pleasure,  and  between 
salutations,  between  promiscuous  jest  and  laughter, 
asked  how  the  display  was  to  open. 

"  There's  a  little  military  parade  first,"  he  told 
them.  "  Some  of  our  fellows  are  officers  in  the  local 
corps  of  Volunteers,  and  they  want  to  air  their  new 
uniforms." 

The  last  clause  was  meant  to  show  that  a  man  who 
was  a  man — Mr.  Rollo  Linnie,  for  instance — needed 
no  military  trappings  to  set  him  off. 

"  Oh  !  "  replied  Kitty  mischievously,  "  I  love  to  see 
officers  in  uniform.  In  Berlin  I  kissed  my  hand  to  the 
Kaiser,  and  he  saluted  like  a  brick.  I  felt  blushing 
all  over  when  the  crowd  turned  to  look  at  me  ;  but  the 
Kaiser  was  lovely,  I  tell  you.  I  can  understand  now 

236 


AN  OLYMPIAN  FESTIVAL 

how  kings  and  emperors  are  useful  for  show.  The 
German  officer,  too,  knows  how  to  get  into  his  clothes 
— as  my  brother  Jeff  says — but  he's  not  a  patch  on  the 
Hungarian.  I  just  love  to  see  Hungarians  in  uni- 
form." 

She  broke  off  with  an  exclamation  as  the  strains  of 
"  The  Highland  Laddie  "  floated  to  their  ears,  and 
next  minute  the  55th,  or  Aberfourie  Highlanders, 
swung  into  the  field,  headed  by  their  pipers.  The  girls 
scrambled  back  to  the  coach-top,  Rollo  and  Jeff  assist- 
ing them,  and  the  others  following  more  leisurely. 

"  I  wish  Captain  MacLean  were  here  to  see,"  said 
Connie ;  "  as  a  military  man  he'd  be  interested." 

"  Hullo !  "  cried  Jeff,  as  jn  instant  reply,  "  there  he 
is,  see,  just  come  out  of  that  tent,  and  in  full  regi- 
mentals, too,  by  Jove  !  " 

Kitty  levelled  a  field-glass. 

"  And  he's  got  his  medals  on  too,"  she  added 
quickly.  "  Isn't  he  just  lovely?  " 

Connie  breathed  a  little  faster;  Rollo  could  have 
groaned.  He  did  not  expect  this. 

"  Oh,  there's  another  officer  beside  Captain  Mac- 
Lean,"  Kitty  pointed  out.  "  Who's  that?  " 

"  That,"  replied  the  laird,  trying  to  look  as  if  he 
were  not  in  the  least  gratified,  "  is  young  Lord  Kin- 
luig,  an  officer  in  my  son's  regiment." 

The  55th  advanced;  Captain  MacLean  took  up  a 
position  on  an  improvised  stand  over  which  floated  the 
Union  Jack,  with  Lord  Kinluig  beside  him,  and  a 
group  of  local  notabilities  behind.  The  music 
changed,  and  the  Aberfourie  warriors  strode  past  to 
the  "  Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu,"  a  war  tune  which  had 
sent  the. captain  and  his  comrade  into  the  real  thing; 
then  wheeled,  and  came  back  to  "  Blue  Bonnets  over 
the  Border."  All  at  once  the  pipes  stopped,  the  com- 

237 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


pany  halted  facing  the  flag,  and  the  bugle  sounded  the 
general  salute,  the  captain  standing  in  a  rigid  acknowl- 
edgment which  drew  comments  and  exclamations  from 
the  Dunveagle  coach.  Then  the  red-faced  bugler  also 
ceased,  the  captain  descended  and  proceeded  along  the 
ranks,  peering  and  smiling. 

"  What's  he  doing  ?  "  Kitty  asked  eagerly. 

"  Inspecting,"  answered  the  laird. 

"  A  farce,"  put  in  Rollo  bitterly. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Kitty,  as  in  response  to  both. 

A  drill  exhibition  followed,  the  captain  made  a  little 
speech,  the  pipers  struck  up  a  quickstep,  and  the 
Aberfourie  Highlanders  marched  off  briskly — into 
civil  life.  Thereupon  Captain  MacLean  made  his  way 
to  the  Dunveagle  brake,  taking  with  him  his  friend  and 
comrade,  Lord  Kinluig. 


238 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

PEER    AND     DEMOCRAT 

THE  welcome  to  Norman  was  easy  and  cordial, 
both  girls  giving  their  hands  and  their  smiles  as  to  a 
familiar  friend.  With  Kinluig  it  was  necessary  to  stand 
more  upon  ceremony,  for  besides  being  a  stranger,  he 
was  young,  handsome,  and  a  peer.  He  stood  the 
democratic  tests  capitally,  for  it  chanced  that,  although 
a  lord — a  circumstance,  as  he  once  explained  apolo- 
getically, he  really  couldn't  help — his  disposition  was 
genial  and  his  training  such  as  kills  the  prig.  In  five 
minutes  he  was  at  home  with  the  men ;  in  half  an  hour 
the  ladies  almost  forgot  he  bore  a  title.  "  If  you 
weren't  told  you'd  never  guess  he  is  an  earl's  son," 
Kitty  whispered  in  admiration. 

He  conformed  in  no  wise  to  the  American  notion 
of  a  lord.  He  did  not,  for  instance,  in  the  least  re- 
semble the  starchy,  drawling  little  Duke  of  Fossilbor- 
ough,  whom  she  had  met  and  ridiculed  at  Newport ;  he 
was  equally  unlike  the  Earl  of  Bobshaw,  who  had 
swaggered  through  New  York  drawing-rooms  with  a 
coronet  under  his  arm,  as  if  it  were  a  new  patent  mag- 
net, warranted  to  attract  gold.  Subsequently  in  her 
visits  to  Europe  she  had  met  specimens  of  nobility  dow- 
ered with  the  qualities  of  man,  and  Kinluig  seemed  to 
be  fashioned  on  the  best  models.  He  wore  no  mon- 
ocle, cultivated  no  drawl,  irritated  by  no  airs  of  con- 

239 


A  SON  OF   GAD 


descension.  On  the  positive  side  he  had  frankness, 
good  looks,  engaging  ways,  and  an  admiration  for  the 
captain  that  was  not  to  be  hidden. 

Referring  to  the  military  display  just  ended,  Kitty 
commented  wittily  on  men  in  short  frocks,  and  both 
girls  asked  Captain  MacLean's  opinion  of  the  local 
force.  But  he  would  not  criticise.  The  men  were  civil- 
ians, and  civilians  don't  become  soldiers  merely  by 
getting  into  uniform  and  enjoying  themselves  on  a 
gala-day.  Partly  from  irresponsibility,  partly  from  the 
stimulus  of  bright  eyes,  Kinluig  permitted  himself 
more  freedom  of  speech. 

"  I  know  what  he'd  have  liked,  Miss  Dunbar,"  he 
said  in  answer  to  a  question  at  which  the  captain  had 
merely  smiled.  "  First,  he'd  have  liked  to  take  the 
men  down  to  a  quiet  spot  by  the  riverside,  and  talked 
to  them  like  a  father  about  dressing  and  bearing,  and 
the  use  of  steel  and  lead.  Then  he'd  have  liked  to 
take  them  uphill  in  face  of  a  sniping  foe  to  see  how  his 
precepts  were  bearing  fruit." 

"  You're  always  bloodthirsty,  Kinluig,"  the  captain 
remarked. 

"  Don't  forget  that  bit  of  fun  with  the  Buffs,"  re- 
joined Kinluig.  "  I  thought  of  it  to-day,  listening  to 
that  pibroch."  * 

The  voices  of  Connie  and  Kitty  came  together  in  a 
demand  for  particulars. 

"  May  I  tell  ?  "  asked  Kinluig,  looking  at  his  su- 
perior officer. 

"  You  must  tell,"  responded  Kitty  before  the  cap- 
tain had  chance  of  reply.  "  Captain  MacLean  is  super- 
seded in  command.  You  are  not  to  mind  his  author- 
ity." 

She  beamed  as  if  to  say,  "  It's  useless  trying  to  re- 
sist ;  give  in  pleasantly."  The  captain  bowed. 

240 


PEER  AND  DEMOCRAT 


"  If  there  were  authority,"  he  said,  "  it  could  not  be 
resigned  into  worthier  hands,"  and  having  no  taste  for 
incense,  turned  to  talk  with  Mr.  Ogilvie. 

"  The  thing  is  told  in  a  sentence,"  Kinluig  began, 
as  both  girls  instinctively  drew  closer.  "  It  was  in  one 
of  the  little  shindies  up  among  the  hills,  which  a 
thoughtful  Indian  Government  arranges  for  practice. 
Some  of  us  had  got  into  a  devilishly  hot  corner — I  beg 
your  pardon." 

"Oh,  don't!"  returned  Kitty.  "It's  delightful. 
You  had  got  into  a  corner  of  the  kind  you  men- 
tion  " 

"  Thank  you — yes,  and  those  who  had  been  irreg- 
ular in  their  devotions  were  beginning  to  have  regrets, 
you  know." 

"  And  that  was  just  the  whole  lot,  I  guess,"  put  in 
Kitty. 

"  Well,  possibly  you're  not  far  out,  Miss  Dunbar. 
Soldiers  aren't  parsons.  In  any  case  there  we  were, 
peppered  much  too  hotly  for  pleasantness ;  for  the  beg- 
gars above  had  got  our  range  to  a  yard,  and  the  men 
were  throwing  up  arms  and  turning  over — we  were 
lying  down,  of  course — at  a  rate  that  meant  wiping 
out,  if  it  lasted  any  considerable  time." 

"  It  must  be  terrible  to  see  men  dying,"  Connie  re- 
marked, with  a  shudder. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  daresay  it  is,  if  you  stop  to  think  of 
it.  One  can't  call  it  a  cheerful  spectacle  when  strong 
men  roll  in  the  dust,  crying  out ;  but  our  fellows  kept 
pretty  quiet,  to  do  them  justice.  It  depends  on  how 
and  where  a  man's  hit  whether  or  not  he  makes  a  fuss. 
We  hadn't  time  to  think  of  that.  Captain  MacLean 
was  in  command,  our  major  being  wounded.  '  What's 
it  to  be,  sir  ?  '  I  asked.  '  Why,  what  should  it  be  ? '  he 
answered,  running  his  eye  up  the  slope.  '  Strike  up,' 

241 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


he  said,  turning  to  the  pipe-major,  and  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment  there  came  the  '  Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu,' 
which  you  have  heard  to-day.  That's  how  I  thought 
of  the  thing,  but  the  circumstances  were  slightly  differ- 
ent. Miss  Ogilvie,  I  fear  the  story  is  unpleasant  to 
you." 

Connie's  face  had  grown  ominously  pale,  but  it  was 
the  pallor  of  interest  and  excitement. 

"  No,"  protested  Connie,  "  please  go  on." 

"  Well,  there  came  the  word  of  command  from  our 
captain.  You  should  have  seen  the  Buffs  leap.  I  can 
see  them  this  minute,  for  they  meant  to  kill,  and  when 
men  mean  to  kill  there's  something  in  their  faces  that, 
once  seen,  you  don't  forget.  Up  went  the  captain,  and 
after  him  we  raced.  From  the  pinging  of  lead  you 
might  have  imagined  a  thousand  swarms  of  bees  were 
about  our  ears.  Men  dropped  thick,  for  the  shooting 
was  dashed  good  for  savages.  The  brigadier  had  de- 
tected our  fix,  and  sent  an  order  to  retire.  But  Cap- 
tain MacLean  has  a  deaf  ear  on  occasion,  as  Nelson 
had  a  blind  eye." 

"  Weren't  you  horribly  afraid  ?  "  asked  Jeff,  who 
had  joined  the  listening  group. 

"  Some  of  us  might  have  been  if  we'd  got  the 
chance,"  was  the  candid  reply.  "  In  ten  minutes  we 
were  among  the  beggars  with  the  bayonet,  and  there 
was  one  of  the  most  agile  scampers  you  ever  saw. 
That's  where  Captain  MacLean  got  his  D.  S.  O." 

"  And  what's  his  D.  S.  O.  ?  "  Kitty  inquired. 

"  The  Distinguished  Service  Order,"  Kinluig  ex- 
plained. "  I  think  he  ought  to  have  had  the  V.  C." 

"  I  know  what  that  is,"  Kitty  said.  "  He  never  told 
us  about  the  other." 

"  No,  and  probably  wouldn't,  if  you  were  to  know 
him  twenty  years.  He's  not  of  the  men  who  talk  about 

242 


PEER  AND  DEMOCRAT 


themselves.  But  the  army  will  give  you  his  record, 
ay,  and  predict  for  you  what  he's  to  be." 

"And  what's  that?" 

"  A  general,  if  he  gets  half  a  chance,"  was  the  em- 
phatic reply. 

Connie  smiled  softly  to  herself.  She  knew  his  rec- 
ord, having  very  privately  consulted  army  lists,  and 
drank  in  with  a  kind  of  thrilling  greediness  the  praise 
of  his  brother  officer. 

Conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  movement  in 
the  ring,  announcing  that  the  sports  were  about  to  be- 
gin. Rollo  dropped  hurriedly  from  the  Dunveagle 
drag,  inviting  the  millionaire  to  accompany  him  within 
the  space  reserved  for  patrons,  judges,  and  committee- 
men,  but  for  the  present  Mr.  Ogilvie  preferred  to  re- 
main with  his  own  party. 

"  Hullo !  "  exclaimed  Kinluig  at  sight  of  a  particu- 
larly active  old  Highlander  within  the  enclosure. 
"  The  Governor." 

"  Lord  Ardvenmore  never  misses  the  Games,"  said 
the  laird. 

"  I  verily  believe  he'd  as  soon  think  of  missing  his 
dinner  when  he's  hungry,"  Kinluig  responded,  with  a 
little  laugh.  "  The  Games  are  a  sort  of  annual  dissi- 
pation. He's  one  of  the  judges  to-day.  There  go  some 
of  the  competitors  at  last." 

A  shout  of  glee  went  up  from  the  watchers  as  there 
appeared  half-a-dozen  giants  in  undress  shirt  and  kilt. 
One  could  see  the  knotted  sinews  in  their  great  bare 
arms,  and  the  thin  shirts  hardly  hid  the  mighty  chests. 
They  chatted  together  amicably  as  four  others  bore 
into  the  arena  what  appeared  to  be  two  tree  trunks, 
sawn  short,  one  being  slightly  longer  and  heavier  than 
the  other. 

"What  are  they  going  to  do  with  that  timber?" 
243 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Mr.  Shilbeck  inquired,  giving  the  first  sign  of  interest 
in  the  proceedings. 

"  Going  to  make  it  turn  somersaults,"  answered 
Kinluig. 

"  Sainted  Aunt  Maria !  "  exclaimed  Jeff,  who  was 
actually  tasting  a  new  sensation. 

"  It's  called  tossing  the  caber,"  the  laird  explained. 
"  Caber  is  Gaelic;  the  tossing  consists  of  turning  the 
caber  over  on  end." 

"  Funny  kind  of  sport,  turnin'  undressed  timber 
endways,"  Mr.  Shilbeck  remarked. 

By  this  time  one  of  the  sons  of  Anak  had  the  caber 
high  in  air,  and  was  staggering  drunkenly  in  the  effort 
to  balance  it. 

"  A  little  too  much  liquor  on  board  for  that  job,  I 
reckon,  sonny,"  commented  Mr.  Shilbeck,  whereat  the 
company  laughed. 

The  next  instant  the  staggering  giant  gave  a 
mighty  lurch,  the  caber  tilted  forward,  took  the 
ground,  rose  slowly,  paused  at  the  perpendicular, 
hesitated,  and  fell  to  the  side. 

"  Failed,  by  jimminy !  "  cried  Jeff,  his  right  shoul- 
der unconsciously  hitched  as  if  he  too  were  heaving  a 
caber. 

"  Not  much  sign  of  liquor  there,  I  think,"  said  Kin- 
luig, turning  genially  to  Mr.  Shilbeck. 

"  Quite  right,  sir,  quite  right,"  Job  admitted,  with 
equal  affability. 

The  next  giant  who  took  up  the  caber  failed  like- 
wise, and  the  next,  and  the  next. 

"  Reckon  tain't  so  easy  as  it  looks,  makin'  that  pole 
turn  a  somersault,"  said  Mr.  Shilbeck  at  large. 
"  They'd  better  toddle  home  and  come  another  day. 
Likely  people  lookin'  fret  'em  and  put  'em  out." 

But  as  he  spoke  there  stepped  forth  from  the  group 
244 


PEER  AND  DEMOCRAT 


of  gladiators  one  whom  the  crowd  welcomed  with  a  re- 
sounding cheer. 

"  Ah,  here's  Donald  himself,"  said  the  laird. 
"  You'll  see  it  going  over  now." 

Donald  squared  his  herculean  shoulders,  stooped, 
seized  the  caber,  hoisted  it,  took  a  little  uncertain  step 
back,  a  little  resolute  race  forward,  rose  till  he  stood  on 
his  toes,  and  spun  the  caber  in  air  as  a  child  might  spin 
a  walking-stick. 

The  crowd  pealed  as  the  caber  went  over,  but  Don- 
ald did  not  heed.  In  the  time  of  Games  cheers  were 
his  daily  fare. 

"  Goliath  of  Gath,"  cried  Connie. 

"  That's  always  what  Donald  does,"  said  the  laird. 
"  They  make  the  handicap  heavier  and  heavier  to  get 
others  to  enter,  and  as  you  say,  Miss  Ogilvie,  it's  a 
case  of  walking  off  with  the  gates  of  Gaza  each 
time." 

"  I  guess,"  Jeff  said,  taking  stock  of  the  athletic 
figure,  "  he'd  be  an  ugly  hand  in  a  row." 

"  You'll  have  a  hint  presently  of  what  he'd  be  likely 
to  do,"  returned  the  laird. 

To  the  caber  tossing  succeeded  the  wrestling,  and 
here  again  Donald  was  to  prove  his  brawn.  There 
was  but  one  man  who  would  hazard  his  clasp,  and 
when  the  vast  arms  closed  like  iron  bands  on  that  ven- 
turesome person,  beholders  gasped  as  if  their  own  ribs 
were  cracking. 

"  He's  good  stuff,"  said  Kinluig,  referring  to  the 
lighter  man,  "  but  Donald  grips  like  a  python." 

The  wrestlers  swayed  and  turned,  their  backs 
arched,  the  calves  of  their  legs  knitting  and  writhing. 
Then  suddenly  Donald  crouched  and  drew;  the 
crooked  back  of  his  antagonist  straightened,  the  knees 
bowed,  and  Donald  laid  his  man  on  the  grass. 

245 


A  SON   OF   GAD 


While  the  crowd  roared  the  platform  was  made 
ready  for  the  dancers. 

"  By  the  way,  isn't  our  friend  Alick  to  dance  ?  " 
Kitty  asked  the  captain.  Yes,  Alick  was  to  dance,  but 
the  captain  doubted  if  he  would  dance  to  much  pur- 
pose. 

"  They  come  here  from  all  quarters,"  he  explained. 
"  Good  dancers  every  one  of  them,  and  oddly  enough 
one  of  the  best  is  your  Goliath  of  Gath." 

In  the  midst  of  the  preparations  the  laird,  looking 
forth  a  trifle  anxiously,  spied  two  figures  crossing  the 
field  towards  the  reserved  inclosure.  They  were  lov- 
ingly linked  together,  and  walked  with  jerky,  irregular 
steps.  Under  the  arm  of  one  a  bagpipe  straggled  like 
a  dead  turkey  with  spread  wings;  under  the  arm  of 
the  other  was  tucked  a  fiddle.  The  laird  had  premoni- 
tions of  trouble  and  was  not  disappointed. 

At  the  gate  there  was  a  sharp  altercation  with  the 
keeper,  but  he  of  the  pipes  prevailed,  and  passed  in 
triumphantly,  taking  his  friend  with  him.  A  moment 
later  Mr.  Rollo  Linnie  stepped  from  the  door  of  the 
committee  tent,  and  the  heart  of  the  watcher  began 
to  beat  fast.  As  he  expected,  Rollo  pounced  on  the 
linked  figures,  who  drew  up,  swaying  unsteadily. 
What  Mr.  Linnie  said  was  not  much,  but  like  Mer- 
cutio's  wound,  it  was  enough.  The  laird  saw  the 
principal  figure  lay  down  its  pipes,  fix  its  bonnet 
more  firmly  on  its  head,  and  trip  out,  squaring  de- 
fiantly. 

"  Norman,  go  and  see  what's  wrong  with  that  spit- 
fire now,"  the  laird  said  in  sudden  concern.  "  Be 
quick,  or  he'll  assault  Linnie  before  you  get  there." 

Norman  obeyed  with  military  alacrity,  every  eye 
On  the  drag  watching  intently. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply,  taking  Ian 
246 


PEER  AND  DEMOCRAT 


unaware.  "  What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  conduct  of  this 
sort?" 

Mr.  Lauchie  Duff  took  two  steps  backward,  recov- 
ered, and  hiccoughed,  grinning  on  the  captain. 

"  It's  a  wee  maitter  o'  private  honour,"  he  ex- 
plained. "  Our  friend  Ian  was  always  a  stickler  for 
honour." 

In  the  same  instant  Ian  turned,  his  face  as  a  flame 
of  fire. 

"  Here's  a  man  sir,"  he  said,  jerking  the  head 
scornfully  at  Linnie,  "  that  thinks  God  Almighty  has 
handed  the  management  of  the  world  over  to  him." 

"  He's  not  fit  to  be  here  in  that  condition,"  Rollo 
interposed  in  self-defence,  "  and  I've  ordered  him 
out." 

"  True,"  rejoined  Ian,  "  but  ye  made  a  mistake  to 
think  he  wass  a  big  enough  ass  to  go  for  the  like  of 
you.  As  for  my  condeetion,  will  ye  oblige  me  by 
standing  out  and  trying  it  ?  " 

"  That's  fair  and  square,"  commented  Lauchie. 
"  Al  haud  yer  pipes,  Ian." 

Rollo  turned  to  Norman.  "  As  these  two  are,  I  in- 
fer, under  your  care,"  he  said,  with  mock  politeness, 
"  I  advise  you  to  get  them  out  of  the  way  as  quickly  as 
possible.  The  Committee  cannot  tolerate  this." 

"  I'm  here  to  pipe,"  Ian  declared  aloud,  "  and  I'm 
going  to  pipe,  and  you  can  stick  your  Committee " 

"  Ian,  Ian,"  interrupted  the  captain. 

"  Him  and  his  Committee,"  retorted  Ian,  con- 
temptuously, "  that  doesn't  know  a  chanter  from  a  cab- 
bage stock." 

For  his  own  sake  and  lan's,  Norman  desired  to 
avoid  a  scene.  A  crowd  was  gathering,  and  no  man, 
even  if  he  be  victor,  looks  heroic  disputing  and  wran- 
gling in  a  crowd.  Besides,  there  was  but  one  man 

247 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


whose  word,  in  present  conditions,  would  have  the 
smallest  effect  with  the  enraged  Ian. 

"  If  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  wait  one  minute, 
I  will  send  for  my  father,"  Norman  said  quietly  to 
Rollo,  and  hastened  off. 

When  the  laird  arrived  he  took  Ian  aside,  and  for 
a  minute  the  pair  held  animated  conversation,  lan's 
thumb  jerking  vehemently  over  his  shoulder  at  Rollo. 
Alick,  slippered  and  ready  for  the  dance,  ventured  to 
intervene  with  a  plea.  He  had  learned  the  great  art 
under  Ian  Veg's  eye ;  by  a  special  act  of  grace,  it  was 
conceded  Ian  should  play  to  him  in  the  competition ; 
the  chance  of  a  prize  was  gone  if  Ian  were  to  be 
thrust  out. 

"  On  your  honour,  Ian,  are  you  fit  to  play  ?  "  the 
laird  asked,  looking  hard  at  his  henchman. 

"  Fit,"  cried  Ian,  cocking  his  bonnet  a  little  more 
defiantly,  "  I'm  fit  to  play  the  tevil  out  of  hell." 

"  That  would  be  ill  done,  Ian,"  returned  the  laird 
soothingly.  "  Leave  him  where  he  is." 

Thereupon  he  spoke  softly  to  Linnie,  and  more  per- 
suasively still  to  others  of  greater  influence,  amongst 
them  the  Earl  of  Ardvenmore. 

"  Tut,  tut,"  cried  his  lordship,  smiling  sympa- 
thetically upon  the  culprit.  "  To  throw  a  man  out  be- 
cause he's  stepped  half  an  inch  out  of  the  straight  line. 
If  that  rule  were  to  hold,  which  of  us  should  see  sal- 
vation ?  " 


248 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

FOR  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  LAIRD  AND  OF  NORMAN 

IN  the  dancing  interest  centred,  so  far  as  Dun- 
veagle  was  concerned,  in  two  competitors,  Alick  Ruah 
and  the  champion  in  the  wrestling  and  caber  tossing, 
scarcely  to  be  recognised  in  his  new  guise,  so  airily 
lithe  and  springy  he  appeared.  In  the  feats  of  strength 
he  seemed  brawn  and  brawn  alone ;  but  on  the  plat- 
form ready  for  the  dance  he  was  all  grace  and  supple- 
ness. The  novice-critics  made  the  mistake  of  associat- 
ing might  of  thew  with  heaviness  of  bulk  and  slowness 
of  movement.  A  giant  to  their  mind  must  necessarily 
be  a  sort  of  human  elephant  or  dray-horse.  They  un- 
derstood nothing  of  bodies  compacted  on  the  principle 
of  finely  tempered  steel. 

The  fact  is,  the  rectified  essence  of  many  types  of 
manhood  lay  packed  under  Donald's  glengarry.  In 
heroic  ages  he  would  have  excelled  equally  at  Olym- 
pus or  Delphi,  the  Isthmus  or  Rome.  A  runner,  a 
leaper,  a  wrestler,  a  dancer  almost  without  match,  he 
would  have  been  a  hero  for  Pindar's  muse.  You  be- 
held him  in  one  attitude,  say  rigid  with  the  dark  olive- 
brown  skin  drawn  tight  over  muscle  and  bone,  and  he 
suggested  carved  bronze ;  he  relaxed,  and  you  had 
the  almost  superhuman  suppleness,  the  agile  grace, 
springy  as  steel,  flexible  as  a  serpent,  which  Greek  art 
has  made  immortal.  He  wrestled,  and  the  Roman 
gladiator  stood  before  you. 

17  249 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Beside  him  Alick  was  as  the  stripling  David  to 
Goliath.  And  like  David,  Alick  was  not  abashed.  A 
ludicrous  contrast  in  point  of  size,  giant  and  boy 
were  alike  in  this,  that  each  could  use  hands  and  feet 
with  a  miraculous  skill,  the  effect  of  pure  bodily 
genius. 

By  a  stroke  of  irony  they  took  the  floor  together, 
the  difference  in  stature  calling  forth  examples  of  the 
rough  pleasantries  by  which  a  crowd  signifies  its  good 
humour.  There  were  a  score  of  expert  pipers  present, 
each  eager  to  pipe,  but  it  was  Ian  Veg  who  stepped  to 
the  front,  ribbons  flying  bravely,  buckles  gleaming, 
head  thrown  back  like  the  proud  protagonist  in  a  great 
drama.  He  took  up  his  position  in  front  of  the  dancers, 
and  the  pipes  squealed.  For  half  a  second  the  laird's 
heart  stopped  in  fear,  and  somehow  every  one  on  the 
Dunveagle  drag  inclined  on  the  strain.  Even  Shilbeck 
felt  and  obeyed  the  magnetic  influence.  Ian  gave  his 
drone  a  vicious  twist,  as  one  flicks  a  horse  that  jibs  un- 
expectedly in  a  crucial  moment.  "  Heavens !  "  thought 
the  laird,  with  a  chilly  quiver,  "  he's  not  fit  after  all," 
and  in  his  mind's  eye  he  saw  Ian  hurried  off  in  disgrace 
by  order  of  the  gloating  Rollo.  But  even  as  his  blood 
ran  cold  there  rose  the  strong,  clear  note  indicating 
that  all  was  well. 

The  dance  was  "  Ghillie  Challum."  The  dancers 
raised  their  glengarries,  bowed  (Alick  instinctively  to- 
wards the  Dunveagle  coach),  and  turned  each  to  his 
crossed  swords.  The  next  moment  they  were  bobbing, 
arms  akimbo.  Connie  and  Kitty  clapped  their  hands, 
for  this  made  all  stage  exhibitions  artificial  and 
clumsy ;  the  laird  breathed  quickly,  his  eye  moving  to 
and  fro  between  dancers  and  piper.  Mr.  Shilbeck  for- 
got to  smoke,  and  Mr.  Ogilvie  beat  time,  his  blood 
leaping  in  a  rapture.  The  measure  quickened,  up 

250 


FOK  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  LAIRD 

went  the  dancers'  right  arms  in  crescents  over  the 
head,  and  the  dancers'  buckled  feet  were  as  sunbeams 
twinkling  among  sword-blades.  The  attention  was 
concentrated  on  Donald  and  Alick,  but  one  watched 
Ian  in  wonder  and  admiration. 

"  He's  the  drunkest  man  that  ever  put  finger  to  pipe 
at  Games,"  commented  Mr.  Duff,  "  and  listen  till  him. 
I  can  play  mysel'  in  drink,  but  owre  fou  I  slither.  The 
higher  ye  fill  him  the  better  the  playin'." 

The  music  ceased ;  the  dancers  bowed  to  a  tumult 
of  clapping  and  roaring. 

"  Glorious,"  cried  Mr.  Ogilvie,  clapping  frantic- 
ally. 

"  Glorious,"  echoed  Kitty  and  Connie. 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Shilbeck  owned,  "  pretty  good." 

It  was  as  near  hyperbole  as  Mr.  Shilbeck  ever 
ventured. 

In  the  ring,  a  group  of  the  privileged,  including 
Captain  MacLean  and  Jeff,  gathered  about  Donald  and 
Alick. 

"  I  think  he's  won,"  the  giant  said,  smiling  down  on 
his  rival.  "  You'll  have  seen  that,  my  lord,"  he  added 
to  the  Earl  of  Ardvenmore  and  strode  away.  He  did 
not  tell  that  by  a  false  step  deliberately  planned  he 
surrendered  his  own  chance  to  Alick. 

"  I've  more  cups  and  medals  than  I  know  what  to 
do  with,"  he  remarked  later  in  confidence,  "  and  the 
wee  devil's  a  brick." 

Meantime  Ian  did  his  best  (and  it  was  much)  to  re- 
new hostilities  with  Mr.  Linnie. 

"  What  d'ye  think  of  yerself  now?  "  he  demanded, 
snapping  his  fingers  in  Rollo's  face.  "  You  and  yer 
committee  taking  it  on  yerselves  to  judge  me.  Go 
home  and  buy  a  penny  whistle."  And  he  went  off  dis- 
dainfully to  receive  congratulations.  But  the  captain 

251 


A   SON  OP  GAD 


took  care  that  they  should  not  be  washed  down  with 
liquor. 

Others  succeeded  in  sword  dance  and  Highland 
Fling.  Then  once  more  giant  and  stripling  stood  up 
together  for  a  reel,  and  Ian  tuned  and  took  his  place, 
still  drunk,  still  divinely  capable.  And  the  dancing 
over,  there  came  the  surprise  of  the  day.  Without  whis-^ 
per  or  hint  to  any  friend  Ian  had  entered  for  the  pipe 
competition,  contriving,  by  means  of  his  own,  to  get 
his  name  entered  as  an  unpublished  addition  to  the 
programme.  The  competitors  included  famous  play- 
ers, from  MacVorlich,  the  Earl  of  Ardvenmore's  own 
piper,  down  through  many  Macs  already  noted  in  the 
annals  of  games.  Mackern  was  oldest  of  them  all, 
was  out  of  practice  and  was  drunk,  ay,  very  drunk, 
though  not  wholly,  if  the  observer's  eye  went  deep 
enough,  with  the  drunkenness  of  ardent  waters. 
Through  the  old  brain  and  fingers  swept  the  fiery  tides 
of  youth,  the  passion  of  an  indestructible  devotion. 

Ian  was  not  piping  from  vanity,  nor  for  the  paltry 
triumph  of  a  prize,  but  for  the  glory  of  the  laird  and  of 
Norman.  So  he  stepped  forth  in  a  glorious  intoxica- 
tion more  spiritual  than  spirituous,  to  hold  for  one  daz- 
zling moment  his  beloved  up  to  the  admiration  of  the 
world.  For  Ian,  like  the  primitive  creature  he  was, 
could  not  separate  his  own  honour  from  his  master's. 
If  he  suffered  with  the  laird,  the  laird  should  rejoice 
with  him ;  such  were  lan's  faith  and  ideals.  He  that 
loveth  much  shall  not  only  be  forgiven  much,  but  shall 
perform  miracles.  The  fervour  of  the  gallant  wearing 
his  lady's  favours  was  feeble  and  insipid  beside  lan's 
hot,  relentless  loyalty.  He  had  taught  Alick  to  dance, 
and  piped  him  to  victory;  he  was  now  to  do  a  much 
greater  thing. 

When  he  stepped  out,  his  bonnet  askew,  his  rebel 
252 


FOB  THE  GLOEY   OF  THE  LAIRD 

hair  in  his  eyes,  the  judges  looked  grave,  but  by  the 
time  he  had  turned  twice  in  the  allotted  space,  the 
gravity  was  on  the  faces  of  his  rivals.  For  the  small, 
grey-headed  figure  did  not  simply  play  a  certain  tune, 
he  evoked  the  very  spirit  of  the  warrior  Gael — daunt- 
less, thrilling,  triumphant ;  so  that  listeners,  women  al- 
most as  much  as  men,  felt  the  roused  impulse  for  the 
onset ;  and  then,  all  at  once,  as  at  the  wave  of  a  magi- 
cian's wand,  a  gush  of  piteous,  yearning  emotion  sub- 
dued the  excited  multitude  to  an  ineffable  sadness.  As 
a  minute  before  it  itched  for  the  fight,  so  now  it  sighed 
over  the  poignancy  of  human  misery.  The  most 
affecting  of  the  ancient  tragic  poets,  the  sublime  Greek, 
confidant  and  instrument  of  Fate,  the  still  sublimer 
Englishman,  whose  pen  was  the  very  stylus  of  tragedy, 
had  their  match  in  the  transhumanised  Celtic  player. 
For  it  was  not  Ian  that  piped,  great  as  Ian  was  in  pip- 
ing, but  the  genius  of  loyalty  herself. 

He  ended,  and  returned  to  his  place  in  a  tempest 
from  two  thousand  throats.  He  was  not  surprised. 
He  knew  what  he  had  done,  and  his  rivals  knew  also. 
The  Earl's  own  piper  met  him  with  congratulations; 
the  Earl  himself  wrung  his  hard  right  hand.  Better 
still,  Norman  was  glad,  and  presently  came  a  message 
that  he  was  wanted  on  the  Dunveagle  drag. 

It  chanced  that  Linnie  went  to  his  friends  without 
knowing  of  this  message,  and  Ian,  balancing  giddily, 
was  helped  up  at  his  heels — to  receive  a  welcome  from 
the  young  ladies  for  which  Rollo  would  have  given  his 
soul.  But  lan's  eyes  were  for  the  laird.  "  Am  I  fit 
now,  sir  ?  "  he  asked,  as  one  might  say,  "  It  was  all  for 
you ;  I  hope  you're  satisfied." 

"  Fit,"  echoed  the  laird  ;  "  Ian  Veg,  you're  a  greater 
piper  than  I  thought.  I'm  proud  of  you." 

In  testimony  of  general  appreciation,  Mr.  Ogilvie 
253 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


poured  out  a  glass  of  sparkling  liquor,  and  Ian,  despite 
himself,  drank  to  the  ladies  and  the  laird  of  Dunveagle. 
Mr.  Duff,  watching  close  at  hand,  remarked,  sotto  voce, 
that  in  this  world  some  people  have  an  undue  share  of 
luck. 


254 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

A     PRECIPITATE     LOVER 

To  the  Countess  of  Ardvenmore,  as  first  fiddle 
among  the  quality,  fell  the  distinction  of  presenting  the 
prizes.  Her  son  acted  as  aide-de-camp,  and  a  brilliant 
group,  including  the  Dunveagle  party,  supported  her, 
smiling  when  she  smiled,  looking  gracious  as  she 
looked  gracious,  according  to  the  best  traditions  of  the 
art.  Connie  and  Kitty  being  conspicuous  in  the  fore- 
ground were  subjected  to  much  whispered  criticism, 
directed  partly  at  their  looks,  as  representing  the 
beauty  of  American  womanhood,  but  chiefly  at  their 
riches,  as  representing  the  ideals  of  a  whole  world. 

It  was  owned  they  passed  creditably  in  looks, 
that  their  cosmopolitan  airs  were  piquant  and  engag- 
ing, and  that,  withal,  they  seemed  commendably 
modest  for  young  people  who  doubtless  had  much  in- 
cense burned  under  their  noses,  and  were  every  minute 
of  their  lives  taught  by  a  hundred  subtle  teachers  that 
the  earth  and  its  glories  are  for  such  as  can  afford  to 
pay.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  noted  they  were  not 
in  the  least  appalled  or  confused  by  the  ordeal  of  rub- 
bing shoulders  with  a  nobility  that  traced  its  lineage 
back  into  the  mists  of  antiquity — ay,  even  beyond  the 
time  of  Noah  himself,  report  affirmed.  They  appeared 
very  much  at  ease,  and  in  truth  presented  as  fair  a 
front,  as  elegant  and  nice  a  manner,  as  if  they  had  just 
arrived,  fresh  varnished,  from  court. 

255 


A  S ON  OF  GAD 


Now  Aberfourie  had  heard,  or  was  led  to  under- 
stand, or  believed — at  any  rate,  succeeded  in  getting 
the  notion  into  its  head — that  while  America  is  pre- 
eminently the  land  of  gold,  it  is  less  pre-eminently  the 
land  of  high  breeding.  But  with  a  living  refutation  of 
the  slander  before  its  eyes,  Aberfourie  amended  its 
opinion  of  the  Republic. 

The  prizemen  entered  to  the  roar  of  brazen  lungs, 
the  youngest  and  oldest  being  the  heroes  of  the  crowd. 
When  Ian  Veg  stepped  forward  as  first  prizeman  in  his 
competition,  Kinluig  managed  to  whisper  in  Lady 
Ardvenmore's  ear,  "  Shake  the  old  fellow's  hand, 
mother."  His  reason  given  afterwards  was,  "  You  see, 
the  old  chap  was  very  drunk,  very  militant,  and  very 
amusing.  He  not  only  won  the  prize,  but  gave  us  a 
great  deal  of  fun." 

Had  he  been  making  a  confession,  he  would  have 
added  that  Miss  Ogilvie  and  Miss  Dunbar  were  evi- 
dently interested  in  the  grey-headed  breaker  of  con- 
ventions. 

The  Countess  graciously  gave  the  cue,  and  Ian  had 
a  conqueror's  ovation.  Almost  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  the  recipient  of  honour  stood  dazed  and  dum- 
founded,  till  glancing  aside  he  saw  the  laird  beaming 
in  pleasure.  That  was  enough ;  lan's  wits  returned. 

"  I  will  be  much  obleeged  to  yer  ladyship,"  he  said 
hastily,  doffed  his  bonnet,  and  was  gone. 

Alick,  the  youngest  of  the  prizemen,  received  Ben- 
jamin's portion  of  applause,  and  he,  too,  being  no  cour- 
tier, was  put  out.  The  Countess's  jewelled  fingers  af- 
fected him  as  something  superhuman,  something  to 
be  touched  with  awe  and  trepidation.  Except  Miss 
Ogilvie's,  Alick  had  never  felt  a  hand  so  soft,  so  rich, 
so  potent  to  confuse.  When  the  great  lady  looked  in 
his  face,  smiling  and  speaking  words  he  could  not  hear 

256 


A  PKECIPITATE  LOVEK 


for  the  buzzing  in  his  head,  he  reddened  like  a  girl. 
At  the  first  chance  he  doffed  and  turned  to  go ;  but  to 
his  dismay  the  example  set  by  the  Countess  was  fol- 
lowed by  Connie,  by  Kitty,  and  a  score  of  other  fine 
ladies,  who  passed  him  from  hand  to  hand  with  a 
diabolic  politeness  harder  to  endure  than  the  rage  of  a 
hundred  masters.  In  the  end  his  eyes,  like  lan's, 
turned  to  the  laird  with  a  piteous  expression,  as  if  to 
say,  "  This  is  bad,  sir,  but  you  see  I  can't  help  it." 
Finding  himself  free  at  last,  he  bolted,  to  another  and 
final  round  of  applause. 

The  presentation  of  prizes  over,  the  elite  turned, 
humming  daintily,  to  other  concerns,  and  Lord  Kin- 
luig  contrived  to  have  the  Dunveagle  young  ladies 
attached  to  his  mother.  To  the  protegees  thus  thrust 
upon  her  by  a  diplomatic  son  Lady  Ardvenmore  bore 
herself  with  gentle  beneficence  and  a  close,  critical 
watchfulness.  What  sort  of  beings  were  they  precisely, 
these  daughters  of  Fortunatus  ?  They  were  fabulously 
rich  of  course,  and  riches  appealed  acutely  to  one 
whose  high  estate,  like  the  high  estate  of  many  of  her 
class,  was  embarrassed  by  a  confounded  lack  of 
guineas.  Thus  vigorously  her  ladyship  occasionally 
permitted  herself  to  speak  of  aristocratic  straitness  of 
purse. 

They  were  rich,  but  so  were  cheesemongers  and 
publicans,  and  haberdashers  and  pawnbrokers.  Her 
ladyship's  fishmonger  owned  stocks  and  freehold  prop- 
erty ;  her  ladyship's  butcher  had  lent  her  £500  on  the 
sly,  making  his  own  exorbitant  rate  of  interest,  the  ras- 
cally Jew ;  her  ladyship's  London  tailor  had  a  smarter 
turn-out  than  her  ladyship's  own.  Brewers  died  mil- 
lionaires. Stockbrokers  built  churches — from  remorse 
probably.  Beyond  all  doubt  craft  and  commerce 
brought  money.  And  these  two  slim  misses  were  stu- 

257 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


pendous  heiresses,  blissfully  ignorant  of  the  worries  of 
making  ends  meet ;  but,  great  heavens !  if  they  should 
be  vulgar. 

The  Countess  of  Ardvenmore,  an  exceedingly  fine, 
fine  lady  of  a  stock  of  undisputed  hoariness,  suffered 
much.  Grasping  money-lenders  had  put  her  under 
trustees,  brutal  tradesmen  harassed  her  as  if  she  were 
expected  to  pay  bills  like  any  common  person.  "  I  am 
apostolic  in  one  sense  at  least,"  she  declared,  with  a 
touch  of  bitter  humour.  "  For,  like  Paul,  what  I 
would  that  I  do  not;  what  I  would  not  that  I  often 
do."  But  no  power  on  earth  ever  did,  would  or  could 
induce  her  to  countenance  vulgarity. 

She  therefore  regarded  these  shining  divinities 
from  the  West,  if  not  with  suspicion,  at  least  with  dig- 
nified and  secretly  critical  reserve.  For  nearly  twelve 
months  she  had  been  abroad,  partly  for  health,  partly 
for  economy.  Rumours  had  reached  her  here  and 
there  in  her  travels  of  the  Midas  of  Dunveagle,  and  the 
doings  of  his  family  and  friends.  She  returned,  and 
on  her  first  public  appearance  found  them  engaging 
the  attentions  of  the  future  Earl  of  Ardvenmore.  The 
situation  was  therefore  one  for  tact  and  observant  eyes. 
They  had  not  birth,  these  young  favourites  of  fortune ; 
the  question  was,  had  they  breeding? 

First  impressions  were  favourable,  but  one  must 
not  be  misled  by  the  superficial.  In  conventional 
phrase  the  girls  behaved  like  ladies.  They  indulged 
in  none  of  the  ostentatious  display  of  wealth  rightly  or 
wrongly  associated  in  her  ladyship's  mind  with  the 
tastes  of  American  women.  They  seemed  well  in- 
formed, could  talk  agreeably  on  European  topics,  and 
their  intonation  was  tolerable.  Mr.  Ogilvie,  too,  was 
prepossessing  as  a  sensible,  affable,  self-possessed  man 
of  the  world.  Jeff  she  regarded  a  little  doubtfully  as  a 

258 


A  PRECIPITATE  LOVER 


sort  of  Republican  colt  running  wild,  and  boggled  un- 
mistakably over  the  Hon.  Job  Shilbeck.  Hence  from 
the  moment  of  introduction  she  ignored  Mr.  Shilbeck, 
and  Mr.  Shilbeck  in  return  marked  for  future  refer- 
ence the  hi-falutin'  airs  and  pinchbeck  almightiness  of 
the  British  aristocracy. 

By  a  movement  of  which  she  was  hardly  conscious, 
so  clever  are  sons  in  using  mothers,  when  the  time 
came  she  entered  the  ball-room  openly  chaperoning 
the  Americans.  The  friendliness  was  emphasised  to  all 
eyes,  when  Lord  Kinluig  led  off  the  dance  with  Miss 
Ogilvie.  His  mother,  watching  with  mingled  feelings, 
noted  that  he  evidently  took  some  pains  to  be  agree- 
able as  the  pair  went  round  in  the  waltz.  Of  course 
she  smiled  with  a  particular  interest;  what  girl  would 
not,  when  the  heir  to  the  Earldom  of  Ardvenmore, 
one  of  the  oldest  in  a  country  of  long  lineages,  con- 
descended to  be  attentive?  One  thing,  however,  her 
ladyship  failed  to  notice,  being  too  intent  on  her  own 
thoughts,  to  wit,  that  while  her  son  spoke  most  ear- 
nestly his  partner's  eyes  stole  to  Captain  MacLean, 
who  was  dancing  with  Kitty.  For  it  happened  that 
Lieutenant  Lord  Kinluig' s  talk  was  not  of  the  soft 
nothings  of  a  ball-room,  but  of  war  and  his  comrade's 
bravery. 

Rollo,  going  round  absently  with  a  chance  partner, 
marked  the  glow  of  interest  in  Miss  Ogilvie's  face  and 
fell  gloomily  silent.  Dulness  hanging  on  the  breach 
of  rudeness  is  no  relish  for  the  dance,  and  next  minute 
his  partner  pleaded  fatigue.  In  the  same  moment 
Miss  Ogilvie  went  by  radiantly  with  Kinluig.  Jeal- 
ousy could  endure  no  more.  Getting  rid  of  his  un- 
lucky partner  without  sign  or  token  of  regret,  Rollo 
went  off  to  drown  chagrin  in  wine. 

Returning  by-and-by,  he  was  able  to  dance  with 
259 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Kitty,  and  later  with  Connie,  By  that  time  wine,  jeal- 
ousy, and  a  spirit  yet  more  potent  were  working  mad- 
ness in  the  brain.  He  went  round  mechanically,  now 
in  a  wild  dream,  now  in  a  cold  nightmare  in  which  he 
was  clutching  at  something  that  forever  eluded  him, 
and  all  the  while  he  chattered  with  the  boisterous 
gaiety  of  desperation.  But  the  last  thing  the  fox  loses 
is  cunning.  In  spite  of  a  light  head  and  beating  ar- 
teries, Rollo  was  still  essentially  himself.  Connie  men- 
tioned the  heat,  and  he  proposed  a  whiff  of  fresh  air. 

"  It's  glorious  outside,"  he  said  in  a  sudden  vertigo. 
"  The  harvest-moon  is  at  its  best ;  it's  splendid." 

"  Not  moon-struck,  Mr.  Linnie  ?  "  she  returned  in 
her  light,  familiar  way. 

He  affected  to  laugh;  would  she  come  and  see? 
She  was  an  American,  bred  in  social  freedom,  self- 
reliant  and  unafraid  because  habituated  to  the  chiv- 
alry of  gentlemen.  Following  her  Western  ways,  she 
did  in  Aberfourie  as  she  would  have  done  in  New 
York. 

"  If  you  like,"  she  answered.  In  a  kind  of  dizzi- 
ness, Rollo  wrapped  a  cloak  of  silk  and  down  about 
her  shoulders,  and  led  her  out. 

"  Too  late  for  your  moon,  Mr.  Linnie,"  she  cried, 
looking  up  into  the  glamorous  obscurity  of  the  night 
sky. 

"  Do  you  mind  very  much  ?  "  he  asked,  steadying 
his  nerves. 

"  Not  at  all,"  was  the  reply.  "  Only  I'd  like  to  see 
a  Highland  harvest  moon  in  all  her  glory.  How  de- 
liciously  fresh !  "  she  added,  inhaling  a  long  breath  of 
meadow,  pine  and  cornfield. 

The  great  tent  was  erected  on  the  edge  of  a  pasture 
beside  a  hedge  fragrant  half  the  summer  through  with 
honeysuckle.  From  the  dim  heights  above  a  larch 

260 


A  PRECIPITATE  LOVEE 


wood  streamed  downward,  dropping  somewhere 
among  the  declivities  and  hollows  into  birch  and  hazel, 
and  spreading  lower  still  into  groups  of  gnarled  oak, 
stretching  almost  to  the  tent-roof.  Connie  looked  into 
the  mystic  gloom,  and  the  spirit  of  poetry  and  adven- 
ture stirred  within  her. 

"  I  wonder  what's  concealed  up  there,"  she  said, 
with  a  sweep  of  her  hand.  "  Let's  have  a  peep  into 
the  darkness,"  she  added,  like  a  child  tempted  to  peer 
into  a  pit. 

Before  he  could  respond  she  was  tripping  across  to 
the  nearest  of  the  big  oaks.  He  followed,  scarcely  dar- 
ing to  believe  it  all  true.  His  chance  had  come.  The 
beauty,  the  great,  the  coveted  heiress  had  invited  him 
into  the  secrecy  of  the  woods  alone  with  herself.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  What  could  it  mean  but  one  clear  thing? 
His  brain  beat  as  beats  the  gamester's  when  fortune 
dangles  a  great  prize.  A  single  point  danced  before 
him  in  a  fiery  radiance.  He  could  have  cried  out. 
This  very  night,  so  help  him  God,  this  very  hour,  he 
would  cast  the  die.  They  were  alone,  they  two;  she 
with  her  twenty  millions,  he  with  his  raging  passion. 
Every  pulse  in  his  body  was  a  battery,  charging  nerve 
and  artery  to  an  unbearable  anguish  of  eagerness.  She 
must  not  escape.  Now  or  never,  now  or  never — he 
was  within  an  ace  of  saying  it  aloud.  Now  or  never. 

They  passed  under  the  shadow  of  a  great  hoar  oak 
still  dense  with  leafage,  she  lightly,  unsuspectingly 
curious;  he  half  delirious.  All  at  once  a  chill  struck 
her.  "  Ugh !  "  she  cried.  "  It's  cold  and  dark  in  here, 
and  likely  there  are  dreadful  creeping  things  about. 
Let's  get  back." 

"  A  minute,  please,  Miss  Ogilvie,"  he  replied,  with 
a  gulp.  "  One  minute.  I — I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing." 

261 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


"  Tell  me  out  here  in  the  open,"  she  said,  mov- 
ing off. 

He  sprang  and  caught  her  bare  hand.  She  was 
surprised,  but  neither  dismayed  nor  disconcerted. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Linnie,"  she  said,  "  you  must  be  un- 
well ;  your  hand  simply  burns.  Come  inside  quick." 

"  You  must  not  go,"  he  answered,  tightening  his 
grip.  "  You  must  not  go." 

"  And  why  must  I  not  go,  pray  ?  "  she  asked,  affect- 
ing a  composure  she  did  not  feel. 

"  Because,  Miss  Ogilvie — "  He  gulped  for 
breath  like  a  choking  man.  "  Because " 

"  Mr.  Linnie,  you  really  are  ill,"  she  cried.  "  It  is 
not  good  for  you  to  be  out.  Come." 

But  she  was  not  to  escape  like  that.  She  made  a 
movement  to  go,  and  he  drew  her  hastily  back. 

"  You  must  not  go,"  he  said  as  if  still  struggling 
for  breath.  "  You  must  not  go.  I  have  something  to 
say  to  you,  something  to  tell  you.  Yes " 

And  the  pent-up  passion  broke  bounds  in  a  tor- 
rent. He  hardly  knew  what  he  said ;  he  knew  not  at 
all  what  he  did. 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  cried,  making  an  effort  to  get 
free.  "  I  insist  on  your  letting  me  go  at  once." 

But  his  only  answer  was  to  draw  her  closer.  In 
another  instant  his  arms  were  about  her,  and  his  face 
was  bent  close  to  hers.  She  gave  a  panting  cry,  and 
struck  upward  with  her  right  hand. 

"  You  coward !  "  she  gasped.  "  Oh,  you  coward, 
to  take  advantage  of  a  woman  like  this ! " 

He  reeled  backward,  his  arms  falling  limp,  and 
Connie  fled  in  a  fury  of  anger. 


262 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

A    VITAL    RECKONING 

HE  saw  her  appear  an  instant  in  the  light  of  the 
tent,  and  then  flash  out  of  sight — a  swift  vision  of  in- 
dignation. Stupefied  and  absolutely  still,  he  gazed  at 
the  point  of  disappearance.  In  spite  of  a  strange  hum- 
ming in  the  head,  he  was  vaguely  conscious  of  silence 
— the  profound,  ominous  silence  which  tells  that  the 
bolt  has  fallen  and  struck.  He  seemed  to  be  in  the 
midst  of  ruins,  to  stand  in  the  graveyard  of  his  own 
hopes  and  ambitions.  What  had  he  done?  Was  he 
mad  ?  All  at  once  by  an  involuntary  contraction  of  the 
muscles  he  gave  a  hard  little  laugh — an  unearthly 
cackle  as  if  some  demon  moved  him  to  ironical  mirth 
over  his  own  fall. 

"  Damnation !  "  he  cried,  the  profane  word  ringing 
incongruously  in  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

Turning  at  that,  he  strode  towards  the  woods  above 
as  if  trying  to  escape  from  his  humiliation,  his  dire, 
unutterable  folly.  But  as  the  moth  to  the  candle,  the 
undetected  criminal  to  the  scene  of  his  crime,  he 
wheeled  and  came  back,  a  vehement  longing  upon  him 
to  know  what  was  going  on  inside  the  tent,  what  Miss 
Ogilvie  was  saying  and  doing,  to  rush  in  defiantly  lest 
any  should  dare  to  gloat  or  sneer  over  his  discom- 
fiture. By  heaven !  he  would  have  satisfaction  out  of 
any  man  who  ventured  by  so  much  as  the  turn  of  an 

263 


A   SON   OF  GAD 


eye  to  insult.  The  paralytic  calm  was  gone ;  he  was  in 
a  frenzy  of  wrath  and  resentment.  As  he  walked,  plan- 
ning vengeance,  all  at  once  a  figure  stepped  out  of  the 
darkness  and,  standing  directly  in  his  path,  spoke 
taunting  and  sarcastic  words  that  were  as  fuel  to  a 
raging  furnace.  He  flung  out  in  a  spasm  of  rage — 

"  This  is  the  third  time  to-day  you  have  insulted 
me,  you  infernal  old  ruffian,"  he  cried.  "  Get  out  of  my 
way,  or  I'll  kick  you  like  the  meddlesome  cur  you  are." 

The  figure  in  front  turned  its  head  to  the  side. 
"  Alick,  just  come  and  hold  my  pipes,"  it  said,  in  a  tone 
which  distinctly  suggested  gratification,  and  out  of  the 
night  came  another  figure,  eagerly  responsive,  and  took 
the  pipes.  "  Ye  hard  his  words,  Alick,  '  Kick  ye  like 
the  cur  ye  are.'  Ye'll  bear  witness  if  anything  happens 
after  such  a  tempting  of  Providence." 

With  that,  Ian  Veg,  for  the  reader  has  divined  it 
was  he,  took  a  step  forward. 

"  Now,  whey-face,  are  you  ready  ?  "  he  asked  pur- 
posefully. 

"  You  dare  to  address  me  like  that !  "  the  outraged 
Rollo  cried,  and  sprang  at  his  tempter. 

It  was  dark,  and  save  Ian  himself,  none  knew  quite 
how  it  came  about,  but  instead  of  bearing  his  antago- 
nist down,  Rollo  found  himself  full  length  on  the  grass. 

"  You'll  better  kick  me,"  he  cried,  as  Ian  bent  over 
him.  "  It  would  be  like  you  to  strike  when  a  man's 
down." 

"  Like  you,  Mr.  Rollo  Linnie,"  retorted  Ian,  "  and 
if  you  wass  up  and  me  down  it's  in  my  mind  that's  what 
you'd  be  doing.  But  some  of  us  iss  clean  fighters. 
Get  up." 

Rollo  rose,  shook  himself,  seemed  to  draw  away, 
turned  like  a  tiger  and  leaped.  The  onset  carried  Ian 
off  his  feet,  and  both  men  rolled  down  a  steep  bank, 

264 


A  VITAL  RECKONING 


locked  in  a  deadly  embrace.     At  the  bottom,  Alick 
saw  with  glee,  the  old  man  was  uppermost. 

"  That  wass  not  friendly,  Mr.  Linnie,"  he  heard  Ian 
say,  "  and  it  must  not  happen  again.  We'll  just  keep  a 
finger  on  your  thrapple.  There,  now,  be  quiet,  or  as 
sure's  I'm  living  ye'll  never  be  laird  of  Teviot  Hall, 
and  that's  a  grand  place  too.  We've  come  to  the  time 
of  settling  accounts,  me  and  you.  This  morning  ye 
wanted  to  turn  me  out  of  the  grounds,  ye  stinking 
brock,  and  ye'd  haf  managed  the  thing  but  for  them 
that's  not  to  be  named  with  the  like  of  you." 

lan's  fingers  insensibly  pressed  harder. 

"  You  were  great  on  the  committee  then ;  would 
you  like  the  committee  to  see  you  now?  Or  maybe 
it's  Miss  Ogilvie  ye'd  like  to  have  a  look  at  you.  Lie 
quiet,  I'm  telling  you." 

The  pressure  on  Mr.  Linnie's  windpipe  made  him 
gurgle  as  if  choking. 

"  Ay,  maybe  ye'd  like  her  to  see  you.  By  your 
way  of  it  I'm  a  cur,  and  by  her  way  of  it  you're  a 
coward.  Twice  over  she  called  you  a  coward.  That 
wass  fine." 

The  man  below  writhed  in  a  horrible  convulsion. 

"  I've  told  you  to  be  quiet  if  you  want  to  be  laird  of 
Teviot  Hall,"  said  Ian.  "  It's  hardly  worth  a  body's 
while  to  be  troubled  licking  you,  though  ye've  had 
something  this  night  ye'll  mind  for  two  days  and  a: 
Sunday  too.  Listen,  and  I'll  tell  you  a  wee  secret,  sir," 
continued  Mr.  Mackern  in  a  tone  of  mocking  polite- 
ness. "  Alick  Ruah  and  me  saw  and  hard  everything. 
And  I  will  confess  to  you  I  never  liked  Miss  Ogilvie 
till  this  night.  You  had  it  fair  between  the  eyes,  Mr. 
Linnie ;  I'm  judging  you  see  the  sparks  flying  yet." 

Another  horrible  convulsion  showed  how  the  man 
below  was  suffering. 

18  265 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


"  I'm  proud  of  the  lassie,"  Ian  went  on,  adjusting 
his  hold,  and  placing  a  knee  where  it  would  be  most 
serviceably  oppressive.  "  For,  look  you,  all  by  herself 
she  told  you  the  truth,  naked  from  the  hand  of  God. 
She  said  you  are  a  coward  twice  over,  so  that  you 
would  mind  it  in  yer  hours  of  meditation.  A  coward, 
and  that's  as  true  as  gospel  of  any  man  that  would 
wheedle  a  lassie  out  into  the  woods  at  night,  and  then 
try " 

"  It's  a  lie,"  croaked  Linnie.  "  She  came  herself, 
and,  what's  more,  she  invited  me." 

"  Invited  you,"  retorted  Ian.  "  Man,  she  had  little 
to  do.  But  I'm  thinking  she  was  just  mistaken  in  you 
like  other  folk,  and  trusted  to  you  being  a  gentleman 
and  all  that,  as  she  would  trust  Captain  MacLean." 

Rollo  squirmed  furiously ;  but  he  was  held  as  in 
a  vice. 

"  You  just  worked  on  her  feelings,  for  I'll  not  deny 
you  haf  the  tongue  of  the  serpent  that  tempted  Eve. 
Every  lassie,  rich  or  poor,  bonny  or  no  bonny,  has 
her  feelings  given  by  God  Almighty  Himself,  and  it's 
the  way  of  lassies  to  listen  to  things ;  but  it  iss  never 
the  way  of  a  man  that  iss  half  a  man  to  do  as  you  did, 
you  carrion  hawk.  If  she  invited  you  out  for  a  canty 
wee  while  by  yourselves,  how  iss  it  she  called  you  a 
coward,  twice  over?  Because  you  wouldn't  come  to 
the  scratch,  eh  ?  You're  a  bonny  lover,  a  fine  lover,  a 
brave,  gallant  lover.  '  Coward/  says  she,  '  coward, 
coward,'  and  struck  you  in  your  false  face  for  laying 
hands  on  her." 

"  Damn  you,"  cried  the  man  beneath  fiercely,  giv- 
ing a  heave  which  sent  Ian  into  the  air. 

But  he  recovered  like  a  goat,  and  as  a  terrier  at 
the  throat  of  a  rat,  he  turned  his  man  over  and  read- 
justed his  grip. 

266 


A  VITAL  RECKONING 


"  She  struck  you  in  your  false  face,"  repeated  Ian, 
"  and  if  you  don't  take  care  I  will  be  making  it  falser 
yet,  ay,  so  false  that  your  old  aunty  will  not  know  you, 
man." 

"  Let  me  up,"  cried  Rollo.  "  I'll  make  you  rue 
this." 

"  I'm  ready  to  believe  you'll  try,"  was  the  response. 
"  You've  the  heart  for  it,  I  know  that.  Ye'd  like  to  get 
me  under  the  flail.  But  before  that  chance  comes  to 
you,  Mr.  Linnie,  there's  four  things  I  want  you  to  do — 
first,  to  apologeese  to  me  for  your  conduct  this  morn- 
ing, which  was  fair  disgraceful ;  second,  to  apologeese 
for  your  conduct  this  evening,  which  is  more  disgrace- 
ful again ;  third,  to  swear  that  if  ever  your  gab  gets 
going  about  this,  you'll  tell  the  honest,  downright 
truth,  neither  more  or  less;  and  fourth,  that  you'll 
own  you  just  made  a  common,  scurvy,  dirty  scoundrel 
of  yourself,  trying  to  play  back-stair  juckery-packery 
with  a  lassie  that's  owre  good  for  you." 

Ian  felt  in  his  heart  no  call  to  play  the  champion 
for  Miss  Ogilvie,  but  the  chance  fell  in  handily  with 
his  own  plans,  and  what  was  more  to  the  point,  plainly 
aggravated  the  suffering  of  Rollo. 

Cooled  by  the  dewy  ground  and  considerations  of 
prudence  and  helplessness,  Mr.  Linnie  evinced  a  de- 
sire to  discuss  terms  and  conditions. 

"  Let  me  up,"  he  said,  "  and  we'll  see  about  it." 

"  I'll  tell  you  a  wee  story,"  returned  Ian.  "  Once 
a  fox  that  was  hard  set  said  to  the  hounds,  '  If  you 
turn  your  heads  the  other  way  for  half  a  minute  I'll 
show  you  something  you  won't  forget.'  The  hounds 
did  as  he  wanted,  and  when  they  looked  again  what 
d'ye  think  they  saw  ?  Just  a  pair  of  clean  heels.  We'll 
be  seeing  about  it  as  we  are." 

Since  he  was  helpless  and  the  other  inexorable, 
267 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


Rollo,  with  all  his  pride  protesting,  expressed  regret 
for  his  rudeness  and  arrogance  of  the  morning  in  terms 
dictated  by  Ian,  repeating  the  formula  for  the  offence 
of  the  evening,  and  swore  also,  according  to  set  form, 
that  if  ever  he  spoke  of  the  incident  or  its  results  to  tell 
the  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  Over  "  the  back- 
stair  juckery-packery,"  as  Mr.  Mackern  called  it,  he 
squirmed  fearfully. 

"  Ian  Veg,"  he  cried,  in  an  anguish  that  would 
have  touched  most  hearts,  but  had  no  effect  on  lan's, 
except  perhaps  to  harden  it,  "  I  swear  to  you  on  my 
word  of  honour." 

"  Indeed,  you  needn't  be  troubling,  Mr.  Linnie," 
Ian  replied,  indicating  with  a  snort  what  he  thought  of 
the  proffered  security.  Nevertheless,  remembering 
Rollo's  abject  surrender  in  the  more  personal  matters, 
made  openly  and  aloud  in  the  presence  of  Alick,  who 
might  be  expected  to  mention  the  thing  in  confidence 
to  friends  here  and  there — being  mollified,  that  is  to 
say,  by  a  personal  triumph — he  presently  allowed 
Rollo  to  rise. 

"  You  have  done  a  dirty  trick,"  were  Mr.  Linnie's 
first  words,  and  they  were  hissed  with  exceeding 
venom. 

"  I  wouldn't  go  so  fast  if  I  wass  you,  Mr.  Linnie," 
Ian  responded  meaningly. 

Rollo  picked  up  his  hat  and  swung  on  his  heel, 
muttering  imprecations,  but  he  had  not  gone  three 
strides  when  he  turned  and  came  back. 

"  Ian,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  mingled  appeal  and 
bravado,  "  let  bygones  be  bygones.  You've  been  win- 
ner. You're  welcome  to  all  the  satisfaction  you  can 
derive  from  the  victory,  but  I  ask  you  as  a  man  to 
keep  it  to  yourself." 

And  he  passed  a  silver  coin  into  lan's  hand. 
268 


A  VITAL  RECKONING 


"  What's  this,  sir  ?  "  asked  Ian,  holding  it  towards 
the  light. 

"  Something  to  drink  my  health  with,"  Linnie  an- 
swered, with  an  assumption  of  goodwill. 

"  I  am  not  sure  how  that  would  look,"  Ian  re- 
joined thoughtfully.  "  If  it's  to  be  a  money  transac- 
tion, as  the  saying  goes,  half  a  croon's  on  the  scrimpit 
side.  Besides  Alick's  in  the  secret,  and  he's  glibber  in 
the  tongue  nor  me." 

"  Oh,  confound  it ! "  cried  Rollo  irritably.  "  Clean 
me  out.  You  should  have  put  your  hand  in  my  pocket 
when  you  had  me  down." 

"  I  should  haf  given  that  tongue  of  yours  a  twist," 
was  the  retort.  "  It's  forgot  its  mainners  already." 

"  Never  mind  manners,"  Linnie  cried;  "  I  want  this 
kept  quiet.  How  much  do  you  think  will  shut  your 
mouth  ?  " 

"  This  is  a  day  of  great  things,"  Ian  responded 
calmly.  "  I  would  think  the  bittie  rag  apiece."  * 

Rollo  groaned  inwardly. 

"  What  ?  "  he  cried.    "  A  sovereign  each  ?  " 

"  About  that,"  said  Ian,  winking  invisibly  at  Alick. 

Rollo  felt  his  pockets  and  produced  £i  i$s. 

Ian  reached  for  the  money. 

"  That  leaves  the  two  half-croons  short,"  he  said, 
counting  like  a  money-lender.  "  We'll  say  ye'll  pay 
another  time." 

"  You  know  the  bargain,"  said  Rollo  bitterly. 

"  Fine,"  answered  Ian.  "  Fine,  and  you'll  not  for- 
get what's  owing,  Mr.  Linnie." 

Without  replying,  Rollo  plunged  into  the  darkness 
behind  the  tent,  and  next  minute  Ian  heard  the  violent 

*A  one-pound  Scotch  bank  note  is  often  called  in  Gaelic 
"the  rag." 

269 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


click  of  a  gate  and  the  sound  of  hurried  footsteps  on 
the  road. 

"  Well,  Alick  Ruah,"  he  said,  with  great  content, 
in  their  mother-tongue,  "  two  pounds  more  for  Dun- 
veagle." 


270 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

CONNIE  GIVES  A  LESSON  IN  CHIVALRY 

SOME  hours  later,  in  the  thick  blackness  that  her- 
alds the  dawn,  the  Dunveagle  coach,  rolling  home- 
ward with  a  yawning  load,  was  passed  by  a  horseman 
riding  furiously,  his  face  low  down  on  the  horse's 
mane.  The  rumble  of  wheels,  the  rhythmic  hoof-beats 
of  the  four  blacks,  and  the  drowsy  approaches  of  sleep, 
all  helped  to  drown  the  clatter  of  the  pursuer,  and  it 
was  not  until  he  dashed,  a  momentary  apparition,  into 
the  glare  of  the  lamps  that  those  on  the  coach  were 
roused. 

As  the  startled  leaders  swerved  Jeff  called  out  in  a 
half  gasp  of  fright,  "  Why,  it's  Linnie,  Rollo  Linnie." 

"  Surely  not,"  responded  Mr.  Ogilvie.  "  Linnie 
would  have  spoken ;  that  man  is  riding  as  if  for  life." 

"  Reckon  it  was  Linnie  all  right,"  Job  Shilbeck  ob- 
served from  the  front  seat. 

"  Then  something  must  be  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Ogil- 
vie. "  But  why  in  the  name  of  wonder  didn't  he 
speak  ?  " 

"  Like  to  ketch  him  up,  sah  ? "  the  coachman 
asked,  turning  a  gleaming  face. 

"  If  it's  safe,  Bibbs,"  answered  his  master.  "  But 
take  great  care ;  these  roads  are  not  made  for  racing." 

"  All  right,  sah,"  Bibbs  returned,  gathering  the 
reins  a  little  tighter.  The  long  whip  went  out  with  the 

271 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


crackle  of  musketry,  and  the  four  blacks  leaped  exult- 
ing to  the  traces.  Three  miles  they  had  their  heads 
and  a  level  road;  but  they  never  got  sight  or  sound 
of  the  desperate  nag  in  front.  It  had  gone  into  the 
night  with  what  frenzy  of  madness  only  one  on  the 
coach  could  guess. 

At  the  avenue  gate,  in  obedience  to  an  order,  Bibbs 
drew  up,  and  all  listened  intently.  But  the  only  sounds 
were  the  dismal  sighing  of  elm  and  chestnut,  and  the 
fretful  murmur  of  the  Veagle  in  its  rock-strewn  chan- 
nel. Connie's  ear  was  painfully  strained,  and  Connie's 
blood  ran  cold  at  the  thoughts  excited  by  that  glimpse 
of  a  distraught  horseman  in  the  lamplights.  What  if 
he  were  found  on  the  morrow  mangled  and  dead  in  a 
ditch  ?  What  if  he  lost  his  seat  and  were  dragged  to  a 
horrible  death  by  a  maddened  horse  ?  What  if  in  his 
insanity  he  committed  suicide,  with  hideous  circum- 
stances implicating  others  ?  Ugh !  why  couldn't  men 
have  sense? 

"  You  are  cold,  dear,"  Kitty  whispered.  "  You 
shiver." 

"Did  I  shiver?"  returned  Connie.  "It's  always 
cold  in  the  dawn,  or  perhaps  some  one  walked  on  my 
grave." 

"  You  may  go  on,  Bibbs,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie. 
"  We'll  probably  have  news  in  the  morning." 

The  morning  brought  no  news ;  but  next  day  there 
came  a  letter  to  Miss  Ogilvie,  which  she  read  behind 
the  locked  door  of  her  own  room.  It  was  a  letter  of 
burning  contrition,  of  abject  self-abasement.  The 
writer  had  offended  heinously,  but  he  explained,  as 
Adam  must  once  have  explained  to  Eve,  that  he 
couldn't  help  it,  that  he  had  been  swept  out  of  his 
senses  by  a  frantic  adoration.  He  prostrated  himself 
at  her  feet,  threw  himself  on  her  mercy,  with  no  plea 

272 


CONNIE  GIVES  A  LESSON  IN  CHIVALRY 

but  that  of  her  own  distracting  loveliness.  To  that  he 
had  succumbed,  with  the  unfortunate  results  she  knew. 
Would  she  forgive  ?  Nay,  she  must  forgive,  could  not 
help  forgiving — because  she  was  an  angel.  And  let 
her  consider  what  she  was  asked  to  pardon  him  for: 
nothing,  on  the  honour  of  a  gentleman,  but  a  blind 
indication  how  he  adored.  If  that  was  the  unforgiv- 
able sin,  then  he  was  doomed.  She  could  punish  him 
as  she  liked ;  but  before  heaven  he  could  not  help  his 
transgression. 

Twice  in  a  giddy  turmoil  of  head  and  heart  she 
read  the  letter.  Then  after  a  turn  or  two  to  compose 
her  thoughts  she  began  a  reply  which  had  to  be  scored, 
and  altered,  and  recast  many  times  before  it  expressed 
her  sentiments.  In  the  end  this  is  how  it  stood : — 

"  DUNVEAGLE  CASTLE,  Friday. 

"  DEAR  MR.  LINNIE, — I  have  read  your  letter  with 
feelings  which  I  need  not  attempt  to  describe.  When 
a  man  behaves  ill  to  a  woman,  I  am  not  at  all  sure 
that  it  is  in  the  least  incumbent  on  her  to  accept  an 
apology,  wipe  out  the  offence,  and  allow  the  old  rela- 
tions to  be  resumed.  In  fact,  they  cannot  be  resumed 
with  the  old  sense  of  trust  and  freedom.  For  an 
element  has  come  in  that  chills  like  a  December  wind, 
or,  worse  still,  scorches  like  a  fire ;  and  this  though 
both  sides  honestly  try  to  forget  the  past.  It  is  one 
of  the  tragic  things  of  life  that  a  person  cannot  go 
wrong  and  draw  back,  and  proceed  as  if  no  false  step 
had  been  made.  The  false  step  means  a  deflection,  a 
bias  that  can  never  be  wholly  overcome  or  set  right. 

"  When  you  praise  me  it  is  very  hard  to  turn  a 
deaf  ear.  I  am  a  woman  and  like  praise  as  a  child 
loves  toys.  The  good  word  of  men  is  the  breath  of 
life  to  us  women.  Heaven  help  us,  God  made  us  so. 

273 


A  SON  OP  GAD 


Yes,  Mr.  Linnie,  we  love  your  approbation  of  our  little 
gifts  and  graces;  but  please  do  not  imagine  that  be- 
cause we  listen  to  flattery  we  perceive  a  lover  in  every- 
thing clothed  after  the  manner  of  a  man.  We  would 
always  fain  see  the  friend;  the  other  I  think  Heaven 
chooses  for  us,  and  he  comes  and  takes  possession  as 
by  right  divine.  But  he  does  not  seize  with  violence. 
Had  Mr.  Linnie  known  or  remembered  this,  I  should 
not  now  be  writing  this  letter. 

"  I  note  and  take  into  account  differences  between 
some  codes  of  the  old  world  and  the  new.  In  my 
country  girls  mingle  freely  with  boys.  Time  passes, 
and  the  girls  grown  to  women  still  mingle  freely  with 
the  boys  grown  to  men.  There  are  no  restrictions  as 
here,  as  if  men  and  women  should  be  muzzled  like 
mad  dogs,  or  fettered  like  straying  horses.  And  there- 
in I  count  my  country  fortunate  ;  therein  I  see  elements 
of  greatness  and  graciousness  because  of  equality. 
For  I  cannot  but  think  it  ill  with  a  nation  when  its 
young  men  and  women  cannot  be  comrades  and 
friends.  In  my  country  the  result  of  social  union  is 
that  it  is  the  pride  and  glory  of  man  to  honour  and  pro- 
tect woman.  From  her  earliest  youth  the  American 
woman  is  accustomed  to  chivalry  in  men.  She  takes 
it  almost  as  a  birthright,  and  receiving  it  every  day  of 
her  life,  she  looks  to  man  as  to  one  hardier  and 
stronger  than  herself,  and  honourable  in  proportion  to 
his  strength. 

"  You  perceive  what  I  mean  and  my  reason  for  say- 
ing it.  An  American  gentleman  getting  or  making 
the  opportunity  would  not  have  done  the  thing  for 
which  Mr.  Linnie  is  now  in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  I 
know  British  gentlemen  who  would  not  either.  Let 
me  be  plain,  for  we  Americans  like  frankness.  What 
did  you  do?  Finding  me  in  your  power,  you  sought 

274 


CONNIE  GIVES  A  LESSON  IN  CHIVALRY 

to  overwhelm  me  with  professions  which  I  did  not 
expect,  which  I  did  not  encourage,  which  I  did  not  de- 
sire; nay,  you  even  laid  hands  on  me,  using  your 
strength  to  compel  me  to  your  will.  Was  that  chiv- 
alry ?  I  trusted  you  as  a  friend  rooted  in  honour,  and 
— but  I  dare  not  give  your  conduct  a  name.  Oh,  Mr. 
Linnie,  it  is  much  more  dreadful  than  you  think  when 
a  woman  finds  herself  mistaken  in  a  man. 

"  But  I  must  stop.  As  to  forgiveness,  I  dislike  the 
office.  You  may  come  to  Dunveagle  as  you  have 
done  hitherto,  with  the  reservations  which  good  sense 
will  suggest,  for  I  should  wish  your  indiscretion  and 
my  disappointment  to  be  kept  private.  I  wish  it  were 
possible  to  forget  an  almost  incredible  piece  of  folly 
and  presumption. 

"  Yours,  with  sincere  regrets, 

"  CONSTANCE  OGILVIE." 

Having  finished,  she  carefully  read  the  letter. 
Studied  in  the  ebb  of  passion  it  seemed  severe,  for  she 
had  written  in  a  glow  of  indignation.  Besides,  she 
had  not  only  to  chastise  Linnie,  she  had  to  defend  her- 
self, lest  by  any  licence  of  imagination  he  might  con- 
strue good  nature  as  cause  and  excuse  for  making 
himself  a  barbarian.  Hence  the  ardent  account  of  the 
social  code  of  America.  That  was  true,  and  she 
swelled  agreeably  at  the  thought  that  it  was  also  a 
stroke  for  her  country. 

It  was  not  in  her  disposition  to  scold,  still  less  to 
pose  as  a  moralist  improving  the  occasion  when  she 
got  an  unlucky  sinner  squirming  on  her  hook.  But  Mr. 
Linnie  had  behaved  abominably,  intolerably,  and  she 
owed  it  to  herself,  to  her  father,  ay,  vicariously  to  her 
countrywomen  to  vindicate  her  position.  She  must 
prove  to  Linnie  that  she  would  not  run  when  he  chose 

275 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


to  beckon ;  indeed,  the  implication  that  she  was  ready 
to  capitulate  at  his  demand  hurt  her  most  of  all. 

"  If  that  were  my  game,"  she  said  to  herself  in  a 
flash  of  anger,  "  Mr.  Rollo  Linnie  is  hardly  the  man 
who  would  be  honoured." 

He  deserved  condign  punishment,  and  he  should 
have  it.  In  the  end,  however,  she  decided  to  take 
Kitty  into  her  confidence,  and  the  pair  held  an  ani- 
mated council  of  war. 

"  There's  something  I  want  to  consult  you  about, 
dear,"  Connie  said  in  some  embarrassment,  and  as 
the  best  mode  of  explanation,  produced  Rollo's  letter. 
Kitty  read  it,  with  amazement  in  every  feature  of  her 
face. 

"  Con,"  she  cried,  "  this  looks  serious.  But  I  don't 
understand.  Tell  me." 

Connie  briefly  stated  the  facts. 

"  I'll  tell  Jeff,"  Kitty  said,  with  decision.  "  He'll 
horsewhip  the  fellow,  and  that's  better  than  he  de- 
serves." 

"  No,  dear,"  Connie  replied  anxiously.  "  We  must 
have  no  scandals.  Remember,  we're  not  in  New 
York.  Here  the  thing  would  be  out  as  if  beacons 
blazed  to  announce  it.  And  somehow,  Kitty  darling, 
you  can't  rub  the  dirt  of  a  scandal  off  quite  clean. 
Something  sticks,  and  the  whiter  the  mark  the  more 
conspicuous  the  blot.  No,  we  must  take  other  means. 
Please,  tell  me  what  you  think  of  that." 

And  she  put  the  reply  into  Kitty's  hand.  Kitty 
took  it  in,  as  it  were,  in  a  gulp. 

"  First  rate !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  First  rate !  It's 
worse  than  a  flogging.  Your  little  lance  is  deadlier 
than  my  horsewhip.  If  anything  would  or  could  make 
him  feel  mean,  and  grovel,  and  skulk,  it's  that.  I  never 
knew  you  could  write  so  well." 

276 


CONNIE  GIVES  A  LESSON  IN  CHIVALRY 

"  If  indignation  can  make  poets,  why  not  letter- 
writers  also  ?  "  Connie  laughed.  "  You  may  suppose 
I  was  very  angry." 

"  I  should  just  think  you  were,"  Kitty  cried.  "  And 
as  to  the  writing,  dear,  forgive  me.  I  ought  to  have  re- 
membered you  took  all  the  English  prizes  at  college, 
including  composition.  But  then  we  always  wrote 
about  things  that  didn't  interest  us  a  bit.  This  is  a 
sort  of  thing  one  would  sit  up  half  a  night  over.  And 
you've  done  it  splendidly — just  splendidly — cuts  like 
steel,  a  beautiful  piece  of  mental  surgery.  First  you 
probe,  and  then  drop  in  your  acid,  that  burns  like  fun ; 
and  it's  all  so  naturally  and  neatly  done.  That's  what 
I  admire.  Besides,  it's  not  only  a  dose  that'll  make 
Rollo  Linnie  contort,  but  a  lovely  essay  on  American 
chivalry.  There,  I  must  kiss  you  for  that  eulogy  of 
the  American  man.  He's  a  perfect  darling.  I  think 
half  the  men  in  Europe  still  believe  women  are  inferior 
beings,  to  be  divided  into  two  great  classes — slaves 
and  playthings.  If  I  were  to  marry  over  here " 

"  As  Countess  of  Ardvenmore,"  put  in  Connie. 

"  Con,  how  can  you  ?  "  demanded  Kitty. 

"  I  think  that  for  a  lord  Kinluig's  a  very  good  fel- 
low," Connie  returned. 

"  Oh,  good  enough !  "  owned  Kitty,  as  if  one  need 
not  expect  much  of  a  lord.  "  He'd  never  do  what  Lin- 
nie did.  But  you've  given  the  fool  a  dressing  down." 

"  You  don't  think  it  too  severe  ?  " 

"  Severe  ?  Tarring  and  feathering  would  hardly  be 
justice.  What  would  Jeff  say  ?  " 

"  This  is  absolutely  between  ourselves,  Kit,"  Con- 
nie said  anxiously.  "  You  won't  tell  any  one  ?  It's  not 
worth  Jeff's  notice." 

"  Don't  fear,  I  won't  tell.  But  what  would  Jeff 
say?  I  guess  it  would  be  a  case  of  shooting  at  first 

277 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


sight,  letting  daylight — I  believe  that's  the  phrase — 
into  the  contrite  Linnie.  You've  done  better.  That's 
tip-top,  and  it'll  go  just  as  it  is ;  and  what  is  more,  I'll 
see  it  posted,  for  you  might  rue,  and  then  our  brave 
Rollo  would  go  without  his  deserts." 

She  turned  to  the  window,  stood  a  moment  looking 
out,  the  sealed  letter  in  her  hand,  and  wheeled  back, 
her  face  in  a  ripple  of  merriment. 

"  You  have  told  me  something,  Con,"  she  said ; 
"  now  I  have  something  to  tell  you.  Don't  be  shocked, 
for  indeed  it's  too  ridiculous." 

A  light  of  intelligence  came  into  Connie's  face. 

"  Kinluig  hasn't  been  proposing  already,  Kit  ?  " 
she  said.  "  I  think  the  epidemic's  in  the  air." 

"  I  think  it  is,"  Kitty  assented,  with  a  little  laugh. 
"  But  you  haven't  hit  the  mark.  Kinluig's  a  very  cau- 
tious sort  of  a  young  person,  besides  being  a  gentle- 
man and  a  peer — with  a  mamma  to  look  after  him. 
No,  dear,  Kinluig  hasn't  proposed  anything  of  con- 
sequence in  this  quarter  yet ;  but  Miss  Linnie  the  elder, 
Rollo's  charming  and  honoured  aunt,  is  under  the  la- 
burnum proposing  to  your  father.  There  now,  don't 
look  so  shocked ;  you'd  laugh  if  you  saw  her." 

And  with  mock  dramatic  action  Kitty  recited : — 

"  My  aunt,  my  dear  unmarried  aunt, 

Long  years  have  o'er  her  flown, 
Yet  still  she  strains  the  aching  clasp 

That  binds  her  virgin  zone. 
I  know  it  hurts  her,  yet  she  looks 

As  cheerful  as  she  can. 
Her  waist  is  ampler  than  her  life, 

For  life  is  but  a  span." 

"  Kit,"  cried  Connie,  "  you  are  cruel." 
"  Poor  old  thing,  if  she  could  but  shed  thirty  years," 
Kitty  replied.     "  Her  efforts  to  recapture  youth  are 

278 


CONNIE  GIVES  A  LESSON  IN  CHIVALEY 

positively  tragic.  Every  time  she  smiles  a  concourse 
of  wrinkles  gathers  in  mockery,  as  if  to  prove  that  all 
the  flirting  and  coquetry  of  five-and-thirty  won't  rout 
them.  Con,  think  of  her  waist ;  would  the  most  daring 
masculine  arm  display  its  littleness  against  that  vast 
circumference  ?  " 

"  Kit,"  repeated  Connie,  "  you  certainly  are  cruel. 
Let  us  go  and  witness  the  attack." 

When  they  reached  the  laburnum  Miss  Linnie  was 
descanting  on  the  woe-begone  aspect  of  her  nephew. 

"  I  veritably  believe,"  said  Miss  Linnie,  with  con- 
viction, as  she  smiled  upon  the  young  ladies — "  I  ver- 
itably believe  the  poor  fellow  is  in  love.  He  has  all  the 
symptoms." 


279 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

SHILBECK   GIVES    BRITONS   A   TIP 

ROLLO  took  his  punishment  in  a  very  characteristic 
fashion,  that  is  to  say  with  outward  signs  of  penitence 
and  dejection,  and  an  inward  resolution  not  to  be  cast 
down.  Thinking  him  mortified  by  shame,  Connie,  de- 
spite her  provocation,  was  disposed  to  pity ;  but  in 
truth  what  she  attributed  to  wounds  of  honour  was  in 
reality  due  to  the  failure  of  a  soaring  ambition. 

For  weeks  Mr.  Linnie  had  lived  and  moved  in  a 
rapturous  trance,  that  vision  of  twenty  millions  daz- 
zling his  weak  sight.  By  day  he  thought  of  it ;  by  night 
he  dreamed  of  it,  and  day  and  night  he  devised  plans, 
made  resolutions.  At  Teviot  Hall  there  was  much  to 
spur  his  ambition,  had  spurring  been  needed.  He 
looked  round  and  discerned  a  thousand  half-concealed 
marks  of  poverty;  he  thought  of  his  own  pleasure  and 
discovered  a  thousand  obstructions.  They  would  all 
disappear  if  the  right  lips  could  be  induced  to  utter  just 
one  short  word.  And  why  shouldn't  they  speak  the 
right  word?  Mr.  Linnie  looked  in  the  glass  and  be- 
held as  good  a  man  as  any  he  knew,  a  figure  that 
fashion  made  her  own,  an  air  of  distinction,  indubitable 
proofs  of  breeding;  what  more  could  any  woman  in 
her  senses  desire?  Turning  to  the  other  side,  why 
shouldn't  he  make  the  most  of  such  qualities  and 
graces  ?  Most  men,  he  observed,  climb  to  fortune  by 

280 


SHILBECK  GIVES  BBITONS  A  TIP 

a  long  and  tedious  ladder,  and  many  fall  and  are 
pushed  off  and  crushed  in  the  attempt  to  ascend.  To 
the  wise  and  daring  matrimony  presents  itself  as  a  sort 
of  patent  elevator— quick,  easy,  safe,  and  sure,  which 
shoots  the  happy  man  up  from  among  the  struggling 
crowd.  Moreover,  quoth  Rollo  the  cynic  and  sophist 
to  Rollo  the  lover  and  mercenary,  why  do  American 
girls  come  to  Europe  but  for  husbands  ?  He  ran  over 
a  list  of  decayed  aristocrats,  who  had  re-established 
themselves  for  ever  as  men  of  fortune  and  votaries  of 
pleasure  by  capturing  stray  American  heiresses.  He 
knew  none  who  needed  an  heiress  more  urgently  than 
himself.  Wherefore,  putting  on  a  bold  front,  he  re- 
turned to  Dunveagle,  and  was  received  with  a  courtesy 
which  made  him  doubt  whether  he  had  really  given 
offence  at  alL  What  if  Miss  Ogilvie's  letter  of  chas- 
tisement were  a  ruse,  or  the  mere  artful  fencing  of  one 
who,  while  convention-bound  to  make  a  defence,  is 
really  longing  to  surrender?  Mr.  Linnie  knew,  or 
divined,  or  had  heard  that  women  are  deep  and  sly  in 
their  methods. 

"  Poor  beggars,"  he  reflected,  half  pityingly,  "  they 
have  to  wait  until  they're  asked  "  (his  good  aunt  had 
waited  forty  years  without  losing  hope) ;  "  and  then 
there's  a  ridiculous  etiquette  or  pride  that  keeps  a 
woman,  except  in  the  last  extremity,  from  jumping  at 
the  man  she  wants.  I'll  not  mount  the  white  feather 
yet,  no,  not  just  yet." 

He  walked,  of  course,  with  extreme  circumspec- 
tion, but  he  felt  more  and  more  that  Miss  Ogilvie  had 
not  been  quite  so  angry  as  she  pretended.  At  any  rate, 
she  gave  no  hint  of  a  breach ;  and  Miss  Dunbar  too 
was  agreeable,  if  sometimes  disposed  to  laugh  unac- 
countably, an  effect  of  mere  girlish  frivolity. 

In  the  midst  of  these  plans  and  meditations  he  was 
19  281 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


one  day  startled  by  the  news,  received  first  hand,  that 
Mr.  Shilbeck  had  completed  arrangements  for  return- 
ing to  New  York.  In  a  quick  tremor  of  fear  Rollo 
asked  if  he  were  going  alone. 

"  No,"  answered  Job ;  "  Jeff  and  his  sister  are  go- 
ing with  me.  They  reckon  it'll  be  mighty  dull  here 
when  the  fall  rains  and  mists  come  on.  Besides,  Jeff's 
gettin'  kind  of  tired  causin'  accidents  with  his  motor, 
and  of  course  Miss  Dunbar'll  be  wanted  in  Noo  York." 

"  Oh,"  said  Rollo  blankly. 

"  Yes,  sir,  Miss  Dunbar  is  as  necessary  to  a  Noo 
York  season  as  the  sun  to  a  summer  day.  You  ain't 
got  any  idea  of  the  sort  of  girl  she  is  at  home  in  Noo 
York.  Nat'rilly,  you  understand,  she  don't  show  her 
paces  here ;  ain't  nothin'  to  pace  for,  as  ye  might  say ; 
but  you  see  her  in  Noo  York,  why,  sir,  a  gold  bond 
certificate  ain't  in  it.  You  should  just  see  the  British- 
ers that  cross  the  herrin'  pond  to  teach  us  manners 
followin'  her  about,  and  trippin'  over  each  other  to  get 
introductions  to  her.  Say,"  added  Job,  with  a  comic 
twist  of  the  countenance,  "  young  Lord  Kinluig  was 
pretty  sweet  t'other  day,  wasn't  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  was  he  ?  "  said  Rollo,  with  portentous  indif- 
ference. 

"  You  may  bet  on  it,"  returned  Job,  "  and  what's 
more,  he's  been  here  since  with  Captain  MacLean, 
and  I  reckon,  quietly  between  you  and  me,  Kitty  had 
on  her  best  smile  for  the  occasion.  There  was  some 
talk  of  Lord  Kinluig  visitin'  America,  jestin'  like  and 
all  in  earnest,  you  understand;  and  Kitty  'peared  to 
take  her  breath  a  bit  at  the  idea  of  a  lord  followin'  in 
her  tracks.  But  I  didn't  gather,"  continued  Job,  with 
a  meaning  expression,  "  that  she  was  in  any  way  mad 
'bout  it,  and  I  rather  suspect  your  friend  Kinluig  will 
be  in  Noo  York  'fore  he's  many  months  older.  Why, 

282 


SHILBECK  GIVES  BRITONS  A  TIP 

Mr.  Linnie,"  he  exclaimed  in  quick  surprise,  "  have 
you  been  takin'  something  that  don't  agree  with  you  ?  " 

"  Me?  I'm  all  right,"  Rollo  answered,  feeling  him- 
self a  livid  green. 

"  I  thought  maybe  something  had  upset  you,"  said 
Job ;  "  lobster  salad  or  such.  I  dussn't  touch  lobster 
salad  myself  for  fear  of  the  gripes.  I  lost  a  big  deal 
once  through  eatin'  lobster  salad,  and  you  don't  ketch 
me  hoein'  that  row  again.  But  about  Kinluig,  I  ex- 
pect to  see  him  in  Noo  York  in  the  course  of  the  sea- 
son. I  don't  know  why  titles  go  down  so  well  with 
Amurican  girls ;  but  I  do  know,  Mr.  Linnie,  that  if  I 
was  young  and  spry  and  tol'rable  good  lookin' — "  He 
stopped  suddenly,  bending  a  quizzical  look  at  his 
companion. 

"  And  pray  what  would  you  do?  "  Rollo  asked,  his 
arteries  beating  under  an  assumed  lightness. 

"  Do  ?  "  repeated  Job.  "  Well,  I  don't  say  I'd  win  ; 
no,  I  don't  say  that,  but  by  the  holy  Jerusalem  I'd  have 
a  good  look  in." 

Rollo  was  in  an  agony. 

"  A  good  look  in,"  he  echoed  fatuously. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Shilbeck ;  "  a  good  square 
look  in.  God  dash  it,"  he  cried,  "  why  should  our 
Amurican  dollars  always  go  to  support  empty  titles? 
It's  not  that  I  object  to  Amurican  capital  comin'  to 
Europe  as  part  of  the  baggage  of  an  heiress,  but  what 
makes  me  sick  is  the  valoo  that's  put  on  titles  by 
people  callin'  themselves  democrats.  I'm  for  honest 
merit,  Mr.  Linnie,  and  if  I  saw  a  young  man  of  the 
right  sort  liftin'  his  eyes  to  the  gold  and  diamonds  I'd 

say,  '  Good,  sonny ;  go  in  and  win,  and  d the 

titles.' " 

"  But  suppose  a  man  wanted  to  marry  money,  as 
the  saying  is,"  Rollo  submitted,  tingling  all  over; 

283 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


"  that  is,  supposing  for  the  sake  of  argument,  he  could 
be  mercenary  in  such  a  matter,  a  title  would  be  a  great 
aid." 

"  Ondoubtedly,"  owned  Job,  "  unless  the  girl  was 
sensible ;  but  I  don't  know  that  girls  ever  are  sensible 
in  fallin'  in  love,  as  it's  called,  though  in  my  experience 
there's  more  dickerin'  than  lovin'.  They're  always 
selecting  the  wrong  man.  The  busiest  court  in  Amur- 
ica  to-day  is  the  Divorce  Court,  because  girls  want  to 
get  rid  of  the  men  they've  married  by  mistake,  and 
take  others  they  fancy  they'll  like  better.  We've  con- 
veniences in  that  way  that  you  ain't  got  on  this  side. 
As  to  name-handles,  there's  people  in  Amurica  to-day 
that's  mighty  sorry  our  Constitootion  excloodes  titles 
— girls  'specially,  and  I  regret  to  say  there's  some 
darned  idjits  of  fathers  that  encourage  the  silliness." 

At  a  chance  question  from  Rollo,  Job  described 
how  the  honest  plebeian  American,  the  sturdy  bour- 
geois with  baggy  breeches  and  a  love  of  plug  tobacco, 
toils,  often  in  shirt-sleeves,  to  make  money,  and  ever 
more  money,  that  his  children  may  soar  into  a  social 
paradise  he  has  never  known  himself.  Sometimes,  ac- 
cording to  Mr.  Shilbeck,  he  deals  in  lard,  sometimes  in 
pork,  sometimes  in  corn,  sometimes  in  molasses ;  at 
other  times  he  manipulates  oil,  builds  and  runs  rail- 
roads, or  strikes  into  Wall  Street;  but  whatever  the 
means,  the  aim  is  always  the  same — to  buy  his  children 
diamonds,  yachts,  racers,  brown  stone  mansions,  and 
in  lucky  cases,  titled  European  husbands.  With  the 
last  ambition  Mr.  Shilbeck  pronounced  himself  ex- 
ceedingly sick.  Rollo  feared  the  mercenary  Briton 
would  cause  him  equal  nausea,  but  here  Job  showed 
uncommon  charity. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  blame  men  for  pickin'  up  wealth 
when  they  can  get  it  for  the  takin',"  he  said.  "  What  I 

284 


SHILBECK   GIVES   BRITONS  A  TIP 

don't  understand  is  this :  why  do  the  likely  young  fel- 
lows of  the  British  Isles  allow  the  nincompoops  with 
titles  to  be  always  on  the  win  ?  " 

"  You  have  given  the  reason  yourself,"  answered 
Rollo,  wishing  to  heaven  it  were  not  true. 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Linnie,"  rejoined  Shilbeck,  with 
unwonted  animation ;  "  I  have  been  lookin'  into  one  or 
two  things  since  comin'  to  this  side,  and  I've  looked 
particularly  into  your  title-market,  and  what  do  I 
find?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  Rollo  returned,  quivering  all 
over. 

"  No,  sir,"  Job  went  on,  "  you  don't  know. 
Nat'rilly  you  don't.  But  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you.  Per- 
haps you  noticed,  perhaps  you  didn't,  that  I  used  the 
phrase  title-market.  You  don't  use  it  here  because  you 
Britishers  ain't  always  got  the  courage  to  be  honest 
with  yourselves.  But  the  thing  exists  all  right;  yes, 
sir,  the  thing  exists  as  real  as  the  Bank  of  England — 
which  is  'bout  the  most  real  thing  you  have — only  not 
quite  so  open  to  the  eye,  maybe.  Well,  sir,  I've  fig- 
ured it  out  on  information  obtained,  and  this  is  what  I 
find — that  for  ten  thousand  pounds  spent  in  the  right 
way  you  can  have  a  knighthood,  and  twice  as  much 
will  make  you  a  baronet.  A  peerage  is  slower  and 
dearer,  but  it  too  has  its  price." 

Rollo  saw  himself  a  knight,  a  baronet,  a  peer. 

"  And  if  you  wanted  to  buy,  how  would  you  go 
about  it?"  he  asked,  with  unconscious  eagerness. 

"  How'd  I  go  about  it?  "  responded  Job.  "  I'll  tell 
ye  how  I'd  go  about  it.  As  a  first  step  I'd  go  into  pol- 
itics ;  as  a  second  step  I'd  combine  politics  and  fashion, 
meanin'  by  fashion  the  cult  of  the  petticoat.  Mark  me, 
it's  the  influence  of  the  drawin'-room  and  the  boodor 
that  gets  a  man  into  office  in  this  country.  Don't  you 

285 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


forget  to  cultivate  the  women-folk.  As  a  third  step  I'd 
lay  myself  out  for  fightin'  doubtful  constituencies  for 
the  party  in  power — that's  always  a  payin'  game. 
Providin'  I  win,  there  I  am  ready  to  go  head  down  with 
the  Government;  providin'  I  lose,  there's  my  claim — 
established.  Then  I'd  subscribe  to  party  funds,  and  off 
and  on  to  fashionable  charities,  first  keepin'  back  my 
name  from  the  noospapers  till  they  had  worked  up  a 
proper  interest  and  excitement  by  guessing,  and  then 
lettin'  'em  have  it  plump." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  fashionable  charities,  Mr. 
Shilbeck  ?  "  Rollo  asked  feverishly. 

"  That  depends  on  cikumstances,"  replied  Job 
astutely.  "  The  same  charities  ain't  always  fashion- 
able. If  religion  was  in  the  air,  I'd  help  to  build 
churches  and  fit  out  missionaries — that's  always  fetch- 
in'.  The  noospapers  talk  of  it,  deacons  and  managers 
pass  resolootions  thankin'  you,  and  passons  orate  'bout 
yer  broad-minded  generosity  and  zeal  for  humanity 
and  all  that.  It's  reckoned  respectable,  and  that  pays 
too.  Then  if  some  great  folk  happened  to  be  fuss- 
in'  round  with  schemes  for  benefitin'  the  poor,  I'd 
dump  down  a  cheque — that  I  reckon's  as  good  biz  as 
any." 

"  What  about  sport  ? "  Rollo  asked ;  "  keeping 
racehorses,  for  example.  The  English  love  horse-rac- 
ing." 

"  Maybe,"  Job  replied  slowly,  "  but  I  haven't  ob- 
served that  it  pays  particular  to  go  in  for  racehorses ; 
no,  I'm  inclined  to  think  it  don't  pay,  'tain't  respectable 
enough ;  on  the  whole,  I'd  be  disposed  to  keep  to  pol- 
itics, fashion,  and  charities,  and,  sir,  them  that  dis- 
penses titles  couldn't  resist  me." 

"  There's  only  one  thing  lacking  to  make  the  rea- 
soning perfect,"  said  Rollo.  "  Before  a  man  can  follow 

286 


SHILBECK  GIVES  BRITONS  A  TIP 

your  advice,  he's  got  to  have  the  £  s.  d.,  the  dollars, 
you  know." 

"  I  was  comin*  to  that,"  returned  Job.  "  S'posin'  a 
young  fellow  was  more'n  or'nary  in  looks,  and  hadn't 
no  flies  on  him  so  to  speak,  poor  and  honest,  you 
understand,  and  liftin'  his  eyes  afar  off,  like  the  prod- 
igal son,  to  diamonds  and  dollars,  as  you  say.  Well, 
he'd  go  in  sayin'  that,  in  case  the  thing  was  O.  K.,  it 
was  his  intention  later  on  to  procure  a  title  for  his 
beloved,  that  she  being  of  the  same  mind,  they'd  work 
together,  and  he  was  sure  her  help  would  tell,  and  stuff 
of  that  sort.  Girls,  especially  Amurican  girls,  like  to 
help.  An  Amurican  girl's  head  is  just  humming  with 
ideas  as  a  rule,  and  if  she  cottoned  to  a  man  she'd  see 
him  through,  you  bet  Of  course,  there's  differences 
in  girls  same  as  in  men ;  some  like  love  pure  and  sweet 
as  honey  from  the  comb ;  others  like  it  with  gold  fast- 
enin's ;  others,  again,  with  a  kind  of  headgear  that  ain't 
to  be  purchased  in  the  United  States.  But  generally 
the  right  sort  of  girl  likes  to  help." 

Mr.  Linnie  was  greatly  heartened.  Pluck  and  pol- 
icy would  accomplish  anything,  and  he  lacked  neither. 
All  at  once  he  remembered  Jeff. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said  carelessly,  while  his  heart 
thumped,  "  since  he  is  leaving,  I  suppose  Mr.  Dunbar 
has  completed  that  contract  you  once  spoke  of?  " 

Job  smiled,  then  looked  grave,  then  turned  his  eyes 
cautiously  to  make  sure  they  were  alone. 

"  It's  my  opinion,"  he  answered  confidentially, 
"there's  a  twist  in  the  tackle  that  don't  let  it  run 
smooth." 

"  A  hitch  ?  "  said  Rollo,  holding  his  breath. 

"  That's  'bout  the  size  of  it,  I  reckon,"  was  the  re- 
sponse. "  Mr.  Linnie,  look  here.  I  like  you,  and  I'll 
tell  you  something  interesting.  I  rather  fancy  Jeff's 

287 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


goin'  to  take  that  half-hoop  of  diamonds  back  to  Noo 
York  with  him." 

Mr.  Shilbeck  chuckled  softly. 

"  And  then,  sir,  I  reckon  old  Giles  Dunbar  will  do 
a  little  stampin' ;  yes,  sir,  I  just  reckon  he  will." 

Mr.  Shilbeck  chuckled  again,  but  Mr.  Linnie  was 
speechless. 


288 


CHAPTER  XL 

PACKING  THE  HALF-HOOP  OF  DIAMONDS 

MR.  SHILBECK  was  right  The  intellect  trained  in 
the  intrigues  of  New  York  and  Washington  easily 
discerned  something  amiss  in  Mr.  Dunbar's  game. 
Moreover,  he  was  fortunate  in  opportunities  to  mark 
and  learn.  Unobserved  and  absolutely  by  accident,  he 
one  day  came  upon  Jeff  and  Connie  on  a  seat  among 
the  shrubbery,  so  intent  on  themselves,  they  had  neither 
eye  nor  ear  for  soft  intruders.  A  delicate  sense  of  fit- 
ness told  Job  that  to  withdraw  might  disturb  and 
startle  them.  So  he  remained  quietly  concealed,  with 
no  intention  of  playing  the  eavesdropper,  yet  forced  to 
listen,  and  what  he  heard  interested  him  profoundly. 

"  Ah ! "  he  said  to  himself,  "  reckon  Jeff's  got  to 
business  at  last." 

In  fact,  Jeff  was  pressing  with  quite  unwonted  ar- 
dour a  matter  of  vital  personal  import,  and  his  com- 
panion, a  little  agitated  and  nervous,  as  Mr.  Shilbeck 
made  out,  was  fencing  with  the  ingenious  perversity 
which  wantonly  misunderstands  and  misinterprets. 

Mr.  Shilbeck  admired  the  woman,  but  his  sym- 
pathies were  certainly  with  the  man. 

"  Pretty  hard  row  to  hoe,  Jeff,  old  man,"  he  said  to 
himself ;  "  pretty  hard."  * 

A  student  of  the  subtler  instincts  of  mankind,  he 
was  amused  by  this  combat  of  head  and  heart,  this 

289 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


onset  of  the  roused  emotion,  and  the  light  parryings 
with  which  the  attacker  was  kept  from  closing.  Jeff 
was  apparently  much  less  delighted  by  the  game  of 
foil. 

"Why,  Con,"  Mr.  Shilbeck  heard  him  declare, 
"  you  almost  make  me  think  you  don't  care  for  me. 
You  do,  indeed." 

"  Care  for  you,  Jeff?"  was  the  response,  made  in 
a  tone  of  pained  surprise  and  reproach.  "  How  can 
you  say  that?  Haven't  we  played  together  and  been 
friends  ever  since  we  can  remember?  Haven't  I  al- 
ways shown  that  I  care  for  you  ?  And — and  I  care  for 
you  now,  Jeff.  Oh,  yes,  I  do." 

"  Well,  then,  why  do  you  hold  me  off  like  this  ?  " 
Jeff  demanded.  "  Why  can't  we  settle  it  ?  "  And  in- 
stinctively Mr.  Shilbeck  bent  his  ear  for  the  reply. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  see,"  said  Connie,  with  a  catch  of 
the  breath  which  did  not  escape  the  listener's  notice, 
"  because — because — "  She  stopped,  as  if  unable  to 
finish. 

"  A  woman's  reason,"  thought  Shilbeck,  bending 
his  ear  a  little  more.  "  Jeff,  yer  on  a  ticklish  bit  of  ice." 

"  Because  why,  Con  ? "  Jeff  asked  in  a  tone  of 
offence. 

"  There  now,"  cried  Connie,  "  you're  angry,  and 
you'll  make  me  sorry  we've  talked  like  this  at  all." 

Jeff  was  instantly  at  her  feet. 

"  Got  him  on  toast,"  reflected  Job. 

"  I  wouldn't  make  you  sorry  for  ten  thousand 
worlds,"  Jeff  declared,  with  the  extravagance  of  a 
lover. 

"  I  knew  you  wouldn't,"  Connie  returned  in  prompt 
approval,  as  if  humouring  a  fractious  child. 

"  But,  Con,  aren't  we ?  " 

"  Sh,"  and  Job,  putting  his  eye  to  a  hole  in  the 
290 


PACKING  THE  HALF-HOOP  or  DIAMONDS 

thicket,  saw  that  she  had  clapped  a  hand  on  the  sup- 
pliant's mouth. 

"  There,"  she  laughed,  "  it's  nice  to  be  as  we  are  a 
little  while  longer,  dear,  dear  friends.  I  think  I'm  nerv- 
ous to-day.  I'm  sure  I'd  be  frightened — if  you  went 
on  as  you've  been  doing.  I  should  indeed.  And 
there's  lots  and  lots  of  time,  isn't  there,  Jeff?  There, 
I  knew  you  would  be  good.  Come,  I  think  Kitty's 
calling." 

Mr.  Shilbeck,  being  obliged  to  retire  in  haste, 
neither  heard  nor  saw  what  followed;  but  he  had 
learned  enough  to  enable  him  to  put  two  and  two  to- 
gether very  effectively  and  logically. 

"  I'd  like  to  be  present  when  old  Giles  Dunbar 
hears  of  this,"  he  said  within  himself,  thinking  the  mat- 
ter over.  "  Giles  counted  Jeff  had  a  dead  sure  thing. 
Talk  of  a  bear  with  a  sore  head !  Halleluiah !  "  And 
in  the  fervour  of  expectation,  Mr.  Shilbeck  smoked 
vehemently. 

Twenty  minutes  later  he  walked  in  casually  on  Jeff, 
who  was  in  shirt  sleeves,  packing,  and  it  chanced  that 
the  case  containing  the  famous  half-hoop  of  diamonds 
lay  open  on  a  table. 

Job  took  it  up  with  an  air  of  perfect  innocence. 

"  You  ain't  packin'  this,  of  course,"  he  remarked. 

Jeff  lifted  his  head,  looked  searchingly  at  Job, 
strode  across  the  room  and  tried  the  door. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  turning  abruptly.  "  Between 
ourselves,  yes,  I'm  packing  it." 

Mr.  Shilbeck  laid  down  the  case  in  astonishment. 

"  But  I  thought  it  was  to  be  left  behind,"  he  said. 

"  So  did  I,"  returned  Jeff,  "  but  you  were  wrong 
and  I  was  wrong.  Shilbeck,  there  are  more  things 
in  heaven  and  earth  that  it's  possible  to  be  wrong 
about  than  you  suspect  until  you  try." 

291 


A   SON   OF   GAD 


But  you  don't  mean- 


;<  Yes,  sir,"  Jeff  interrupted,  "  I  do.  We  both  made 
a  mistake;  see?  Minds  me  of  the  old  joke  about 
putting  salt  on  a  bird's  tail ;  seems  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world — until  you  try.  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Dunbar, 
taking  the  case  and  thrusting  it  into  a  corner  of  a 
portmanteau,  "  it's  going  right  in  there  for  the 
present.  Another  time,  you  understand.  Another 
time." 

"  Postponed  ?  "  Job  ventured. 

Jeff  nodded. 

"  Fact  is,"  he  explained,  "  she  don't  cotton  to  the 
thing  just  now — timid — afraid  to  take  the  jump.  You 
know  what  girls  are." 

"  So,"  said  Job,  his  eyes  bent  thoughtfully  on  the 
floor,  the  goatee  grasped  firmly  in  his  right  hand.  He 
was  thinking  that  if  all  tales  were  true  most  girls 
showed  a  surprising  readiness  to  take  that  particular 
jump. 

"  There  ain't  a  hitch  anywhere,  I  reckon  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  None,"  answered  Jeff  promptly ;  "  none  what- 
ever. Just  timidity.  Girls  are  so  funny." 

"  Very  funny,"  said  Shilbeck. 

"  Told  me  she  cared  for  me  and  all  that,"  Jeff  pur- 
sued. "  Guess  I  must  come  back  again,  that's  all." 

Job  considered  a  moment  and  then  said  quietly, 
"  Didn't  mention  in  any  way  she'd  be  a  sister  to  you, 
did  she?" 

"  Sister,"  cried  Jeff.  "  Shilbeck,  are  you  dream- 
ing?" 

"  Girls  are  so  funny  when  they're  timid  and  afraid 
to  jump,"  returned  Shilbeck ;  "  but  I  reckon  if  she 
didn't  say  she  wanted  to  be  a  sister  to  you  it's  all 
O.  K." 

292 


PACKING  THE  HALF-HOOP  OF  DIAMONDS 

He  kept  an  admirably  grave  and  innocent  coun- 
tenance. 

Jeff's  expression  was  inquisitive,  suspicious,  and 
decidedly  uneasy. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  much  like  it,"  he  cried. 
"  There,  that's  honest.  And  I've  an  idea  you  smell  a 
rat.  Nobody  has  ever  found  any  sand  in  your  eyes, 
Shilbeck.  In  any  case  you  know  how  matters  stand. 
Tell  me  what  you  think." 

Mr.  Shilbeck  gave  his  goatee  a  little  tug  absently, 
as  if  lost  in  thought. 

"  Girls  are  mighty  curious  things,"  he  answered, 
with  great  deliberation.  "  They're  just  like  an  April 
day,  when  you  think  they're  gain'  to  shine  they  rain, 
and  when  ye  think  they  might  rain  they  shine.  Ye 
don't  ketch  me  puttin'  my  money  on  'em;  no,  siree. 
Now  in  the  case  before  us  I  reckon  there  ain't  the 
smallest  possibility  of  a  chance  that  any  other  fellow's 
snoopin'  and  nosin'  round?  I  put  the  question  hypo- 
thetically  of  course." 

Jeff  stared  as  if  he  saw  an  apparition. 

"  Great  heavens,  Shilbeck,"  he  cried,  "  what  put 
that  in  your  head  ?  You  know  I  wouldn't  stand  that. 
I'd  assassinate  him  right  away.  You  don't  imagine 
that  Miss  Ogilvie ?" 

Mr.  Shilbeck  raised  his  hand. 

"  I  don't  imagine  nothin',"  he  rejoined,  "  but  you'll 
allow  that  a  nice  girl  like  Connie  Ogilvie  runnin'  loose 
in  Europe  here  would  be  likely  to  attract  attention." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  ?  "  Jeff  demanded,  sud- 
denly grown  resentful  and  truculent. 

"  No,  sir,"  Job  answered  quietly,  "  I  don't  insin- 
uate. That  ain't  my  style,  as  you  know.  But  we've 
got  to  look  at  things  fair  and  square,  and  if  my  friend 
Duncan  Ogilvie's  daughter  wasn't  what  you'd  call  a 

293 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


prize,  I  reckon  my  friend  Giles  Dunbar's  son  wouldn't 
be  rampagin'  round  Dunveagle.  That's  as  I  figure  it. 
Well,  sir,  d'ye  think  Mr.  Jeff  Dunbar's  fool  enough 
to  suppose  he's  the  only  man  that's  got  eyes  for  a  girl  ? 
No,  sir ;  he's  too  cute  for  that,  or  he  ain't  his  father's 
son.  You  put  a  first-class  security  on  the  market,  and 
what's  the  result?  A  howlin'  rush.  You  set  a  nice, 
good-looking  girl,  like  Connie  Ogilvie,  on  a  pedestal 
of  twenty-dollar  gold  pieces,  and  do  you  think  only 
one  man  in  a  crowd  would  see  her  good  points? 
Shucks,  Jeff  Dunbar,  the  man  who  thought  that  would 
be  a  patent,  compound-cylindered,  ten-thousand 
horse-power  idjit.  All  I  say  is  that  it's  as  nat'ril  as 
lyin'  for  men  to  notice  a  nice  girl,  and  in  Europe  here 
I  reckon  there  are  some  who  don't  do  anything  else 
worth  speakin'  of." 

"  Oh,  damit !  "  cried  Jeff  impatiently.  "  I'd  win 
against  them  all." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Job  ;  "  of  course,  bein'  an  Amuri- 
can  with  yer  head  on  right  side  to  the  front.  And  yet 
I'm  not  sure  it's  just  what  you'd  call  first-rate  policy 
to  be  eternally  tootin'  and  snortin'  in  a  motor  with 
a  man  that  don't  know  enough  to  speak  plain  English, 
never  heedin'  there's  such  a  thing  as  a  petticoat  about. 
No,  I  ain't  at  all  sure  that  it's  first-class  policy." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Shilbeck  ?  "  Jeff  asked, 
half  in  fear,  half  in  resentment. 

"  A  girl's  human,  ain't  she  ?  "  returned  Job.  "  A 
girl  likes  to  feel  that  folks  go  round  thinkin'  of  her." 

"  Is  it  a  question  of  heart  or  vanity  ? "  Jeff  de- 
manded brusquely. 

"  Maybe  it's  heart,  and  maybe  it's  vanity,"  quoth 
Job  sapiently.  "  And  maybe  it's  a  mixture  of  both. 
But  the  point  is  this,  a  girl's  human.  I'm  not  sure 
Mr.  Jeff  Dunbar  has  always  remembered  that  elemen- 

294 


PACKING  THE  SALF-HOOP  OF  DIAMONDS 

tary  fact.  What's  the  consequence?  He  tries  to  rush 
business,  and  the  girl's  scared." 

"  And  would  you  advise  me  to  stay  and  see  it 
out  ?  "  Jeff  inquired  purposefully. 

"  That  mightn't  look  well,"  Job  replied.  "  I  reckon 
it'll  be  all  right,  Jeff.  I  wouldn't  take  on  'bout  it.  If 
it's  a  time  limit  give  a  time  limit." 

"  Never  fear,"  Jeff  observed ;  "  I'm  not  going  to 
take  on  about  it.  But  I'm  an  American,  Shilbeck. 
I'm  an  American,  and  I  hate  like  poison  to  fail." 

"Nat'rilly,"  Job  assented,  "  nat'rilly.  That's  the 
U.  S.  style." 

Jeff  stood,  one  hand  in  his  breeches  pocket,  the 
other  scratching  his  head. 

"  Well,"  he  remarked  desperately,  "  all  I  can  say  is 
this,  some  girl's  got  to  wear  that  ring." 

"  Don't  you  go  and  upset  the  apple-cart  by  rushin' 
things,"  Job  admonished.  "  Don't  you  be  slingin' 
round  engagement  rings;  it  don't  pay.  No,  sir,  you 
don't,  as  a  rule,  get  satisfactory  returns  from  that  sort 
of  speculation.  Have  you  ever  been  out  on  a  moose- 
hunt?" 

"  Moose-hunt  ?  "  echoed  Jeff.  "  Of  course,  I  have 
— across  the  Canadian  border  there.  But  what's  a 
moose-hunt  got  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Havin'  been  on  a  moose-hunt,"  responded  Mr. 
Shilbeck,  "  you'll  remember  'bout  the  care  you  took 
stalkin'  yer  game.  You  didn't  get  to  windward  and 
shout  and  carry  on.  No,  sir,  you  lay  low.  Now,  'pears 
to  me  a  girl's  pretty  much  like  a  moose.  If  she's  a  little 
shy,  and  ye  want  her  badly,  ye've  got  to  do  yer  stalkin' 
mighty  careful.  But  it'll  be  O.  K.  yet,  Jeff,"  he  broke 
off  cheerfully.  "  I  reckon  she'll  jump  all  right.  You 
ain't  in  the  habit  of  'lowin'  yerself  to  be  beat." 

"  Shake  hands,"  cried  Jeff;  "  shake  hands.  That's 
295 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


the  best  word  you've  said  yet.  No,  by  thunder,  I'm 
not  in  the  habit  of  allowing  myself  to  be  beat." 

At  the  same  time  another  was  revolving  the  same 
problem  in  a  different  way,  but  to  similar  issues.  Mr. 
Rollo  Linnie  had  no  difficulty  in  convincing  himself 
that  Miss  Ogilvie  was  as  eager  to  receive  him  back 
into  favour  as  he  was  to  return.  "  Only,"  he  reflected, 
"  I  must  be  more  careful  in  future,  more  discreet — 
that's  the  word — more  discreet.  I  was  too  impetuous ; 
perhaps  I  overdrank  myself.  Girls  like  boldness,  but 
not  too  much  boldness.  Well,  we'll  be  more  discreet 
next  time." 

If  he  misinterpreted  Connie's  goodwill,  the  mistake 
might  be  fatal  to  his  projects  regarding  Kitty,  the 
more  especially  since  he  distinctly  recognised  a  rival 
in  Kinluig.  But  no,  he  could  not  be  mistaken,  Miss 
Ogilvie  was  glad  to  have  him  back ;  her  letter  was  a 
sly  little  dodge  to  test  him.  He  was  mightily  encour- 
aged by  observing  that  she  grew  less  and  less  free  with 
Captain  MacLean.  She  was  often  silent  and  embar- 
rassed in  his  company.  "  In  fact,"  reasoned  Mr.  Lin- 
nie, "  she  sees  through  that  arrant  pretender,  and  is 
getting  sick  and  tired  of  him." 

The  effect  of  all  this  on  the  person  principally  con- 
cerned was  that  she  lived  in  some  sort  the  life  of  a 
juggler,  who  must  keep  so  many  balls  spinning  simul- 
taneously in  the  air. 


296 


CHAPTER   XLI 

REALISED     IDEALS 

NOT  long  after  the  departure  of  the  American  vis- 
itors, Captain  MacLean  had  luncheon  at  the  castle  on 
the  special  invitation  of  Mr.  Ogilvie.  The  refection 
over,  host  and  guest  retired  by  themselves  to  the  libra- 
ry, and  Norman  was  aware  of  a  peculiar,  meaning 
expression  in  the  millionaire's  face,  a  twinkle  as  of  one 
who  is  quietly  revolving  a  secret. 

"  Shall  we  smoke  ?  "  Mr.  Ogilvie  asked  in  his  most 
cordial  manner.  "  Wholesome  tobacco  fumes  will 
help  to  keep  the  maggots  out  of  my  daughter's  bind- 
ings." 

"  Miss  Ogilvie  has  gathered  a  fine  collection,  sir," 
Norman  observed,  glancing  round. 

"  Yes,"  the  host  acknowledged.  "  There's  a  notion 
abroad  that  women  are  absorbed  in  jewellery,  lap-dogs, 
perfumes,  amusements,  and  frivolity  generally.  I 
don't  find  it  true  of  my  daughter.  Perhaps  the  Ameri- 
can woman  is — what  shall  I  say? — a  little  more  eager 
in  mind  than  her  cousin  in  Great  Britain.  But  that's  a 
mere  impression  and  may  be  quite  wrong." 

"  I  rather  fancy  it's  right,"  returned  Norman,  the 
thought  of  a  particular  example  of  bright  American 
womanhood  carrying  conviction. 

"Well,  perhaps  so,"  said  Mr.   Ogilvie,  smiling; 
"  but  it  wasn't  to  talk  of  books  or  compare  national 
characteristics  I  suggested  coming  here." 
20  297 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


With  that  he  stepped  into  an  inner  room,  unlocked 
a  desk,  and  returned  bearing  in  his  hand  a  folded  piece 
of  paper.  Throwing  himself  into  an  armchair,  he 
looked  at  his  guest  with  that  enigmatic  expression 
which  Norman  had  already  noted. 

"  In  asking  the  honour  of  your  company  at  lunch- 
eon to-day,  Captain  MacLean,"  he  said,  "  I  may  as 
well  confess  I  had  ulterior  purposes.  We  are  all  crea- 
tures of  mixed  and  sometimes  dark  motives.  To  be 
brief,  I  had  a  little  business  to  transact.  Some  time 
ago  you  were  good  enough,  or  rather  your  father  was 
good  enough  on  your  behalf,  to  entrust  me  with  a 
certain  commission ;  and  I  assure  you  nothing  of  the 
kind  ever  gave  me  more  genuine  pleasure." 

The  captain  bowed  in  turn,  colouring  perceptibly. 

"  Well,  to  save  trouble,  and  also  to  enable  me  to  act 
promptly  in  case  of  need,  I  made  the  investment  in  my 
own  name  as  agent  or  trustee.  Naturally  I  selected 
securities  that  were  well  regarded,  and  I  am  glad  to  say 
expectations  were  more  than  fulfilled.  At  a  certain 
point  we  sold  out,  and  now,  Captain  MacLean,  I  have 
the  pleasure  to  hand  you  a  cheque  for  the  proceeds," 
and  he  passed  the  paper  to  the  astonished  Norman. 
"  If  you  endorse  it,  I  think  any  bank  in  Aberfourie  will 
probably  hand  you  the  cash  in  exchange." 

"  I  am  totally  unversed  in  the  ways  of  business," 
Norman  stammered,  less  at  ease  than  if  he  were  charg- 
ing a  battery  in  full  blaze.  "  And  I  hardly  know  in 
what  terms  to  acknowledge  your  goodness,  sir." 

"  If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  suggest  means,  Cap- 
tain MacLean,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  responded,  "  by  not 
troubling  about  it." 

"  That  is  the  way  of  ingratitude,"  Norman  rejoined, 
crumpling  the  cheque  like  waste  paper,  "  and  I  can- 
not agree  to  it,  though  indeed  I'm  utterly  at  a  loss  how 

298 


REALISED   IDEALS 


to  express  myself.  We  army  men  are  not  much  exer- 
cised in  speech." 

"  An  excellent  thing  too,"  remarked  Mr.  Ogilvie  in 
great  good  humour.  "  In  the  army,  or  out  of  it,  give 
me  the  doers,  and  any  one  else  is  welcome  to  the 
talkers." 

"  Upon  my  word,  sir,"  cried  Norman,  though  by  no 
means  ill  pleased  with  a  sentiment  which  he  had  him- 
self often  expressed,  "  just  at  this  moment  I  am  dis- 
posed to  envy  the  talkers.  My  father  spoke  to  me  of 
your  kindness,  but  I  had  no  idea  what  was  coming 
of  it." 

"  The  result  will  not,  I  hope,  be  the  less  satisfactory 
on  that  account,"  observed  the  millionaire  affably. 

"  Satisfactory,"  repeated  Norman,  unfolding  the 
cheque.  "  Why,  sir,"  he  exclaimed  at  sight  of  the 
figures,  "  this  is  surely  impossible ;  this  is  out  of  all 
hope  or  reason." 

"  Not  quite  impossible,  since  the  thing's  done," 
answered  Mr.  Ogilvie,  hugely  enjoying  the  captain's 
amazement.  "  But  a  very  fair  return  on  the  invest- 
ment, I  venture  to  think." 

He  did  not  say  that  he  had  simply  transferred  the 
stock  to  himself  at  its  highest  market  value  and  written 
a  cheque  for  the  gross  proceeds.  To  the  trafficker  in 
millions  such  a  transaction  was  not  worth  two  minutes 
of  golden  time ;  yet  he  had  a  keener  gratification  in 
developing  the  little  scheme  of  surprise  than  in  half  a 
dozen  gigantic  successes. 

"  In  any  case,"  rejoined  Norman,  still  struggling 
with  astonishment,  "  this  must  be  much,  very  much 
more  than  the  amount  invested." 

He  looked  at  the  cheque  again,  as  if  to  assure  him- 
self his  eyes  were  not  deluded.  For  the  little  slip  of 
paper  represented  a  larger  sum  of  money  than  he  had 

299 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


ever  before  handled  or  possessed  at  one  time,  larger 
than  he  could  hope  to  save  by  years  of  rigid  economy. 

"  A  little  more,  perhaps,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  owned, 
smoking  quietly.  "  Occasionally,  you  know,  one  gets 
a  chance." 

"  But  rarely,  sir,  passes  it  on  to  another,"  said  Nor- 
man. 

Mr.  Ogilvie  sat  up. 

"  There  I  think  you  are  mistaken,  Captain  Mac- 
Lean,"  he  replied  warmly.  "  In  my  own  ups  and 
downs,  and  I've  had  my  full  share  of  them,  I  have  dis- 
covered a  surprising  amount  of  goodness  in  my  fellow- 
sinners.  And  surely  it's  a  poor  soul  that  makes  a  deity 
of  its  beggarly,  wretched,  ignoble  little  self.  I  know 
we  financiers  have  a  hard  name,  and  I'm  not  going  to 
deny  that  on  the  whole  we  deserve  it ;  our  sins  indeed 
are  so  many  and  so  deep  of  hue  I  sometimes  doubt 
whether  there'll  even  be  a  back  seat  for  us  in  Para- 
dise." 

"  I'm  afraid,  sir,  you're  not  the  only  people  who 
have  reason  to  doubt,"  Norman  laughed. 

"  I  daresay  not,"  returned  Mr.  Ogilvie  genially. 
"  If  you  pardon  me  for  a  personal  illustration  having 
no  personal  significance  whatever,  if  you  and  I  were  to 
knock  for  admittance  together,  it  may  be  St.  Peter 
would  look  as  kindly  on  me  with  my  scrip  as  on  you 
with  your  red  sword.  I  don't  presume  to  judge.  The 
only  thing  that  seems  tolerably  certain  is  that  both  of 
us  would  be  full  of  regrets  for  deeds  done  in  the  flesh, 
and  all  chance  of  amendment  gone.  Do  you  know, 
captain,  I  often  think  of  that  parable  of  the  foolish 
virgins.  It's  terribly  suggestive,  terribly  true.  No 
man  should  be  reckoned  in  extremity  while  one  chance 
remains.  Brave  men  may  even  make  stepping-stones 
of  failure  and  defeat ;  I've  seen  it  done  many  a  time. 

300 


REALISED   IDEALS 


But  to  hear  that  ring  of  doom,  '  Too  late,  too  late ! ' 
to  find  the  last,  the  very  last  of  a  world  of  chances  gone 
like  yesterday — ay,  that's  the  stuff  despair  is  made  of. 
What's  the  most  tragic  picture  in  history?  Isn't  it 
Napoleon  at  St.  Helena  gazing  over  the  sea  to  the  lost 
world  of  opportunity  and  ambition,  which  he,  the 
whilom  master  of  kings,  must  never  enter  again — 
never,  never?" 

Norman  murmured  assent.  He  had  read  all  about 
Napoleon's  victories,  studied  Napoleon's  strategy,  was 
fired  by  Napoleon's  example,  but  had  not  thought  of 
that  tragic  gaze  across  the  sea.  "  My  God,"  he  cried 
suddenly,  "  what  thoughts  must  have  tortured  him." 

"  His  mistake  was,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie,  "  that  he 
pushed  fortune  too  hard;  that  like  a  jealous  lover  he 
wanted  her  all  to  himself.  For  punishment  she  cast 
him  on  that  desolate  isle  of  the  sea,  with  a  puffed-up 
idiot  for  a  jailer.  But  for  one  glorious  moment  he  had 
revenge.  He  died  dreaming  that  he  was  at  the  head 
of  his  victorious  army.  There  for  an  instant  he  got 
the  better  of  fortune,  of  the  stupid  jailer,  and  the  stupid 
British  Government.  They  could  not  prevent  the 
dream  of  the  dying  Napoleon.  Fortunately,  most  of 
us  have  not  Napoleon's  climbing  ardour,  nor  Napo- 
leon's talents.  We  do  as  we  may  or  can  like  bees  in 
a  hive." 

The  captain  inclined  his  head  as  at  a  too  familiar 
truth. 

"  And  you  have  probably  noticed,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  ob- 
served, "  that  the  world's  hosannas  are  rarely  for  the 
saints,  until  the  saints  are  dead.  The  best  man  I  ever 
knew  died  in  Sing  Sing  prison ;  the  worst  I  ever  knew 
gave  of  his  ill-gotten  gains  to  what  are  called  philan- 
thropic and  religious  institutions,  and  as  I  gathered 
from  the  funeral  sermon  went  straight  to  Abraham's 

301 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


bosom.  I  fancy  it's  the  irony  of  these  things  that 
makes  sceptics  and  pessimists.  The  unthinking  mass, 
however,  play  the  great  game  of  Vanity  Fair  as  if  they 
liked  it ;  and  some  of  us  being  in  can't  get  out.  What's 
the  consequence  ?  Men  of  my  own  profession  find  that 
if  they're  to  live  they  must  do  a  little  squeezing  of 
rivals,  even  as  soldiers  crush  a  foe ;  neither  snivel,  but 
— and  here,  after  describing  a  circle,  I  return  to  my 
point — even  the  callous  financier  occasionally  allows 
himself  the  luxury  of  turning  aside  to  pluck  a  rose, 
just  for  its  perfume  and  its  dew.  You  perceive?  " 

The  captain's  perception  was  quick  enough,  but  his 
tongue  seemed  miserably  slow  and  clumsy  in  putting 
mingled  feelings  into  words.  Mr.  Ogilvie  came  po- 
litely to  his  relief. 

"  Having  carried  through  one  small  transaction  to 
our  mutual  satisfaction,  Captain  MacLean,"  he  said, 
"  may  I  make  one  suggestion,  and  it's  this.  With  men 
who  operate  much  in  stocks  it  is  a  rule  to  take  fair 
profits  and  reinvest.  The  outsider  often  forfeits  both 
profit  and  capital  by  holding  on  too  long.  You  have 
had  the  luck  to  sell  at  the  best  point.  My  advice  would 
be  to  divide  the  proceeds,  keeping  half,  say,  and  rein- 
vesting the  other.  It  will  afford  me  much  gratification 
to  undertake  the  office  of  broker  or  agent  again." 

While  Captain  MacLean  was  endeavouring  to  ex- 
press his  gratitude,  fervently,  but  with  no  great  meas- 
ure of  fluency,  the  door  opened,  and  Miss  Ogilvie 
walked  in.  Pausing  curiously,  she  looked  from  one  to 
the  other  in  mute  apology  for  the  intrusion.  She  had 
known  they  were  together,  guessed  their  business,  and 
could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  investigate  for  herself. 

"  I  hope  I'm  not  intruding,"  she  said ;  "  I  want  a 
book,"  and  moved  to  the  great  bookcase  which  lined 
one  side  of  the  room.  Captain  MacLean  was  instantly 

302 


REALISED   IDEALS 


by  her  side,  with  proffers  of  assistance  in  the  part  of 
librarian. 

"  I'm  not  quite  sure  what  I  want,"  she  answered, 
letting  her  eyes  meet  his. 

"  A  common  failing  of  the  sex,  Con,"  her  father 
remarked. 

She  ran  to  him  with  vehement  upbraidings,  and 
punished  him  with  a  caress. 

"  Don't  blush,  dear,"  he  said,  submitting  blissfully. 
"  After  all,  you're  not  responsible  for  the  failings  of 
your  sex." 

At  that  she  broke  away,  declaring  he  was  very  rude 
and  ungallant. 

"  Oh,  well,  since  I'm  out  of  favour  I'd  better  go," 
he  responded. 

Gracefully  as  a  hawk  in  mid-air  she  wheeled,  beg- 
ging him  not  to  "  mind  " ;  but  he  replied,  gravely  this 
time,  that  if  the  captain  would  excuse  him  he  would 
despatch  some  business  which  awaited  him  elsewhere. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  remarked,  as  a  Parthian  shot,  "  Cap- 
tain MacLean  will  help  you  to  make  up  that  piece  of 
chaotic  instability  called  a  woman's  mind." 

She  hurled  gay  reproaches  at  the  retreating  figure, 
for  they  were  great  chums,  then  shyly  faced  her  com- 
panion. 

As  their  eyes  met,  an  electric  shock  passed  through 
each. 

Connie  turned  with  burning  cheeks  to  the  book- 
case. 

"  I'm  very  stupid  to-day,"  she  cried  in  a  vexed  tone. 
"  Please  tell  me  what  to  read." 

"  There's  enough  here,  Miss  Ogilvie,"  Norman  re- 
turned, with  singular  gravity. 

They  ranged  swiftly  over  editions  de  luxe  of  authors 
ancient  and  modern,  grave  and  gay,  a  great  company 

303 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


of  silent  philosophers,  wits,  and  story-tellers.    But  that 
day  it  was  impossible  to  fix  the  mind  on  books. 

Happening  to  look  from  the  window,  Connie 
started  as  one  who  is  suddenly  surprised,  made  a  hasty 
excuse,  and  ran  off.  Looking  out  in  turn,  Norman 
saw  her  whisking  Alick  out  of  sight.  A  few  minutes 
later  Mr.  Ogilvie  found  him  still  gazing  from  the  win- 
dow as  in  a  trance. 


304 


CHAPTER   XLII 

REVELATIONS 

HAVING  feasted  under  the  generous  stimulus  of  the 
housekeeper  and  a  valiant  appetite,  Alick  was  con- 
ducted to  a  room  so  rich  and  dainty,  that  it  seemed 
to  epitomise  the  luxury  of  a  world.  There  Miss  Ogil- 
vie  awaited  him  almost  as  ardently  as  if  he  were  the 
forbidden  lover  coming  secretly  to  his  lady's  bower. 
She  would  have  carried  him  thither  in  the  first  instance 
but  for  the  intuitive  knowledge  that  all  young  animals, 
and  particularly  young  animals  in  the  shape  of  boys, 
are  most  pliant  after  feeding  to  their  heart's  content. 
She  wondered,  in  her  impatience,  why  it  took  him  so 
long  to  eat,  forgetting  his  capacities  in  that  direction ; 
when  at  last  he  appeared,  rosy,  and  exceedingly  happy, 
she  closed  the  door  quickly,  and  the  two  sat  tete-a- 
tete  a  singular  contrast  of  fine  lace  and  hodden  grey. 

By  this  time  Alick  had  learned  to  look  in  Miss 
Ogilvie's  face  without  feeling  that  the  earth  gaped 
under  him,  and  now  he  was  cool  enough  to  mark  her 
extraordinary  brightness  and  vivid  interest  in  himself. 
Conversation  opened  agreeably  with  compliments  to 
his  own  and  lan's  triumph  at  the  games,  and  a  gen- 
eral reference  to  the  pleasures  of  a  picturesque  event. 
As  he  listened,  lines  of  merriment  radiated  from  the 
corners  of  Alick's  mouth,  then  all  at  once  he  laughed 
outright,  as  one  laughs  over  a  ludicrous  memory  sud- 
denly called  up. 

305 


A   SON  OF   GAD 


"  What  makes  you  laugh,  Alick  ? "  Miss  Ogilvie 
asked  in  a  tone  that  at  once  expressed  surprise  and 
winning  confidence. 

"  Oh,  mem,"  he  answered,  struggling  between  con- 
trition for  bad  manners  and  an  inclination  to  break  out 
again,  "  it  was  Ian  and  Mr.  Linnie  I  was  thinking  of." 

"  That  little  difference  of  theirs  on  the  morning  of 
the  games  ?  "  she  suggested. 

"  Yes,  mem,  and  the  night  too." 

"  The  night  too  ?  "  she  repeated,  a  new  note  in  her 
voice. 

"  Yes,  mem ;  the  night  was  the  biggest  bar  of  all, 
that's  the  best  fun,"  he  explained,  lest  the  vernacular 
might  be  lost  on  her. 

"  Then  you  had  fun  at  night,  Alick,"  she  said,  keep- 
ing her  eyes  on  his  face.  "  You  see  the  disadvantage 
of  being  a  woman.  Was  there  great  fun  at  night  ?  " 

She  was  smiling  so  divinely  that  Alick's  soul  was 
puffed  up. 

"  Yes,  mem,"  he  cried,  "  and  most  of  the  fun  was 
about  yourself  too." 

A  boy  is  the  bluntest  of  instruments  when  he 
chances  to  hit. 

She  gave  a  little  start  and  held  her  breath. 

"About  me,  Alick?" 

"  Yes,  mem,"  he  answered,  his  eyes  dancing. 

Connie's  blood  ran  cold,  but  she  maintained  an 
admirable  nerve. 

"  You  must  excuse  my  stupidity,  Alick,"  she  ob- 
served sweetly,  "  but  I  don't  understand." 

Alick's  heart  was  leaping  so  jubilantly,  he  forgot 
the  prudence  which  Ian  had  so  often  inculcated  with 
a  stick. 

"  Well,  mem,  it's  this,"  he  said.  "  lan's  not  what 
you'd  call  friends  with  Mr.  Linnie." 

306 


REVELATI  O.K  s 


"  And  it  is  a  serious  thing  of  course  to  be  out  of 
favour  with  Ian.  What  did  Mr.  Linnie  do  to  offend 
him?" 

"  Once  when  the  laird  was  in  trouble  the  Linnies 
were  bad  to  him." 

"  And  I  suppose  that  whoever  is  bad  to  the  laird  is 
bad  to  Ian." 

"  Yes,  mem.  And  when  Mr.  Linnie  was  for  put- 
ting him  out  at  the  games  that  day  Ian  was  mad  with 
rage ;  and  Lauchie  Duff — that's  the  old  fiddler,  mem — 
told  him  night  was  the  time  to  settle  accounts  of  that 
kind ;  so  it  was  done  in  the  night." 

Miss  Ogilvie's  interest  was  more  intense  than  Alick 
guessed.  Her  purpose  with  him  was  quite  other  than 
to  hear  tales  of  brawls  and  unequivocal  hatred ;  but  on 
a  sudden,  horrible  suspicions  were  thrust  upon  her, 
and  these  in  turn  brought  a  cold  fear.  She  had  assured 
herself  that  the  vast  indifferent  night  had  alone  heard 
the  insolence  of  Rollo  Linnie.  What  if  unsuspecting 
eyes  and  ears  were  about  ?  She  would  fain  have  turned 
to  other  concerns,  but  Alick  that  day  had  the  spell  of 
the  ancient  mariner,  and  when  he  spoke  it  seemed  she 
could  not  choose  but  hear.  Her  reputation  was  at 
stake ;  her  woman's  curiosity  on  tip-toe.  It  would  be 
a  fine  scandal  for  Glen  Veagle  and  the  glens  and  dales 
for  fifty  miles  around  if  Mr.  Linnie's  idiotic  imper- 
tinence were  known.  She  hated  him  with  a  new  fiery 
hatred.  Why  had  she  not  let  Jeff  or  another  horse- 
whip him?  In  that  moment  she  could  have  horse- 
whipped him  herself. 

"  It  was  done  in  the  night,"  she  repeated,  forcing 
down  her  agitation. 

"Yes,  mem." 

She  could  see  that  Alick  was  mentally  smacking  his 
lips.  Was  he  moved  by  the  mere  boy's  delight  in  fight- 

307 


A   SON   OF  GAD 


ing,  or  was  there  damaging  knowledge  behind  ?  She 
recalled  that  distracted  figure  of  a  horseman  dashing 
past  in  the  darkness.  What  did  it  all  mean  ? 

"  And  I  suppose  there  was  great  fun  at  the  settling 
of  accounts,  Alick,"  she  remarked,  toying  with  a  lace 
handkerchief.  Alick's  face  took  on  a  look  of  beatitude 
far  beyond  the  reach  of  a  saint. 

"  Yes,  mem,"  he  answered,  his  voice  ringing  with 
glee.  "  Gosh,  Ian  gave  it  to  him." 

"  You  mean  thrashed  him  ?  "  she  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  mem,  thrashed  him." 

"  But  Ian  is  old,  while  Mr.  Linnie  is  young ;  how 
could  Ian  thrash  him  ?  "  she  returned,  almost  wishing 
Ian  had  killed  him. 

"  But  you  see,  mem,  Ian  is  awful  with  his  nieves," 
Alick  explained  joyously. 

"With  his  what?" 

"  His  nieves,  mem.  This,"  and  Alick  held  up  a 
doubled  fist. 

"  Oh,  I  see !  "  and  Miss  Ogilvie  eased  her  mind 
with  a  laugh. 

From  that  point  they  got  swiftly  on  confidential 
terms,  and  Alick  told  a  tale  which  filled  the  listener 
with  a  freezing  horror.  He  made  no  attempt  to  pal- 
liate ;  he  had  a  barbarian's  indifference  to  feeling. 

"  You  see,  mem,"  he  told  her  radiantly,  "  when 
you  and  Mr.  Linnie  came  out  from  the  dancing  Ian 
and  me  was  waiting  in  the  dark.  Lauchie  Duff  was 
to  be  there  too,  but  he  wasn't  fit." 

"  Wasn't  fit,"  she  repeated  mechanically,  her  breast 
like  a  cauldron. 

"  No,  mem.  Lauchie  whiles  takes  a  drop  too 
much,  and  Ian  had  to  put  him  to  bed  in  a  stable  loft ; 
so  we  were  just  by  ourselves.  When  Ian  saw  the  two 
of  you  he  gripped  my  arm  and  said  wild  like  below  his 

308 


REVELATIONS 


breath,  '  There  he  is,  there's  the — '  "  Alick  pulled  up. 
"  It  was  a  bad  word,  mem,"  he  explained.  "  Some- 
times when  he's  mad  Ian  uses  bad  words." 

"  Like  the  rest  of  us,  Alick.    Omit  it  and  proceed." 

"  Well,  we  watched  you  both  going  over  to  the 
wood,  and  then  there  was  a  queer  noise,  as  if  you  was 
angered,  mem.  '  Alick,'  says  Ian  to  me,  '  listen ;  as 
sure's  death  the  beast's  making  love  to  her.'  That's 
what  he  said,  mem." 

"  The  silly  man,"  said  Connie,  all  her  pulses  beating 
furiously. 

"  Ian  was  awful  mad,  mem.  '  I'll  dirk  him,'  says 
he,  in  quiet  to  me,  '  and  if  you  tell  I'll  dirk  you  too. 
The  like  of  him  making  love  to  any  respectable  lassie. 
Wait  a  bit  though ;  if  she  listens  to  him  she  can  have 
him  and  welcome ;  if  not,  Linnie's  in  for  it  this  very 
night.'  It  was  pretty  black  under  the  trees,"  Alick 
proceeded  eagerly,  "  but  we  saw  him  gripping  you, 
mem,  and  then  you  slapping  him  in  the  face.  '  See  to 
that,'  says  Ian.  '  Alick,  that's  good,'  and  we  heard 
you  telling  him  he  was  a  coward  several  times  over. 
Ian  said  he  never  heard  or  saw  anything  that  pleased 
him  better." 

"  That  was  good  of  Ian,"  Connie  said,  not  without 
some  smack  of  offence.  But  Alick,  engrossed  in  his 
narrative,  held  on. 

"Then,  mem,  we  saw  you  running  away,  and 
waited.  '  Alick/  says  Ian,  '  we've  got  him  now.  The 
Lord,  or  the  devil,  or  somebody  has  delivered  him  into 
our  hands.' " 

Connie  lifted  an  admonishing  forefinger. 

"  Alick,"  she  cried,  "  you  may  tell  your  story,  but 
you  mustn't  be  blasphemous." 

"  No,  mem,"  Alick  replied,  in  nowise  daunted  by  a 
word  he  did  not  understand.  "  '  We've  got  him,'  says 

309 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Ian, '  and  look  you,  that's  the  man  who  wanted  to  keep 
you  from  getting  a  prize,  don't  forget  that.'  '  No  fear,' 
says  I,  for  I  hated  Mr.  Linnie  just  as  much  as  Ian. 
'  What's  the  ass's  colt  going  to  do  now  ? '  says  Ian. 
'  Is  he  going  after  her,  do  you  think  ? '  But  the  man 
turned  and  went  to  the  wood,  walking  quick.  '  It'll 
be  better  up  there,'  says  Ian ;  '  we  can  do  as  we  like,' 
but  just  then  Mr.  Linnie  turned  and  came  back." 

"  A  premonition,  perhaps,"  said  Connie,  seeking 
relief  in  speech. 

"  Maybe  that,  mem,"  returned  Alick,  to  whom  the 
suggestion  was  Greek.  "  When  he  came  near  enough 
Ian  stepped  out  in  front  of  him,  and  said,  '  How  do  you 
do,  Mr.  Linnie  ?  It's  been  a  trying  kind  of  a  day,  sir,' 
and  then  Mr.  Linnie  cried  out,  '  It's  you,  is  it,  you 
spawn  of  Satan  ?  '  And  the  next  thing  he  was  at  lan's 
throat." 

In  a  bubbling  glee  he  described  the  scuffle  of  the 
two  men,  the  feigned  retreat  of  Rollo,  and  the  fierce 
second  charge  which  carried  both  to  the  bottom  of  the 
steep  declivity.  Act  by  act,  word  by  word,  he  re- 
counted all  that  ensued.  When  he  told  of  lan's  cham- 
pionship of  herself  Connie  flamed,  whether  with  shame 
or  gladness  she  could  not  tell,  but  through  all  she 
listened  with  a  painful  intentness.  Rollo's  forced  apol- 
ogies brought  a  break  of  laughter,  and  a  little  thrill 
of  admiration  for  Ian.  It  was  beyond  her  to  under- 
stand how  the  old  man  had  done  it  all,  because  she  did 
not  know  or  forgot  that  hate  and  rage  gave  a  tiger 
strength.  But  the  climax  of  surprise  came  at  the  end, 
and  for  a  moment  lifted  her  beyond  all  thought  of  self. 

"  And  you  had  a  little  jollification  of  your  own,  I 
suppose,"  she  said  when  Alick  described  how  Rollo 
had  cleared  his  pockets  under  the  coercion  of  the  in- 
exorable Ian. 

310 


REVELATIONS 


"  No,  mem,"  Alick  answered  quickly.  "  It  was  all 
for  the  laird,  and  that  was  why  Ian  made  him  pay." 

She  scrutinised  his  face  with  marvelling  eyes. 

"  You  mean  to  tell  me  you  kept  nothing  for  your- 
selves?" 

"  No,  mem,  not  a  penny  ?  " 

Connie  felt  as  if  she  were  discovering  new  prov- 
inces of  human  nature ;  at  the  same  time  it  reminded 
her  of  the  real  business  of  the  interview. 

Alick  had  thrice  been  entrusted  with  a  delicate 
mission  on  the  laird's  behalf,  and  she  waited  anxiously 
for  his  report.  He  was  able  to  tell  her  that  her  con- 
tributions had  been  added  to  the  little  store  according 
to  instructions,  omitting,  however,  to  mention  that  his 
honorarium  went  with  the  rest. 

"  That's  good,  Alick,"  she  said,  smiling  her  love- 
liest. "  And  of  course,"  she  added  radiantly,  "  none 
but  ourselves  knows." 

Alick  flushed  guiltily,  and  Miss  Ogilvie  asked  in 
alarm — 

"  Does  any  one  know  ?  Quick,  tell  me ;  does  any 
one  know  ?  " 

Alick's  lips  and  throat  had  never  before  been  so 
dry,  but  he  managed  somehow  to  articulate — 

"  Yes,  mem,  somebody  knows." 

"  Oh,  Alick,  Alick ! "  she  cried  in  piercing  re- 
proach. "  What  have  you  done  ?  " 

Alick  rose,  as  if  drawn  from  above  by  the  nerve 
roots. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  mem,"  he  pleaded ;  "  as  sure's 
death  I  couldn't  help  it.  When  I  was  putting  in  the 
money  the  first  time  Ian  came  on  me." 

"  Ian,"  she  repeated  in  a  passion  of  mortification. 
"Must  Ian  know  and  meddle  with  everything?  Sit 
down  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


She  was  flashing  and  peremptory  now,  and  Alick 
obeyed  in  such  a  tremor  as  even  Ian  could  not  inspire. 

"  Well,  now,"  she  said,  on  hearing  all,  "  will  this 
man,  this  Ian  of  the  universal  scent,  hold  his  tongue, 
do  you  think  ?  " 

Alick  gave  vehement  assurances  of  lan's  good 
faith,  stating  reasons  for  the  interference. 

"  He  thought,"  said  Alick,  with  a  forced  laugh,  "  he 
thought,  mem,  I  was  helping  myself  when  I  got  him 
out  of  the  way.  When  he  saw  how  it  was  he  was  awful 
glad." 

"  Indeed." 

"  Yes,  mem.  And  when  he  knew  about  you,  mem,, 
he  said  it  was  grand — and " 

Alick  drew  up  as  if  among  quaking  bogs. 

"  And  what  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Oh,  just  that  anybody  who  was  the  laird's  friend 
was  his  friend." 

Assuredly  she  was  coming  upon  new  provinces 
of  human  nature. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  It  seems  Ian  and  I  were 
confederates  without  knowing  it.  Well,  we  must  re- 
consider the  position.  There's  only  one  thing  more  at 
present,  that  you  are  not  to  mention  what  has  passed 
now  to  any  one  alive,  not  even  to  Ian.  Remember." 

And  Alick  gave  his  word  of  honour. 


312 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

A  PEEP  FROM  BEHIND  CURTAINS 

HE  was  dismissed  with  yet  another  token  of  con- 
fidence, for  it  seemed  that,  in  the  extraordinary  situa- 
tion which  had  arisen,  the  millionaire's  daughter  must 
enlist  the  goodwill,  and,  above  all,  secure  the  silence, 
of  this  imp  of  the  hills.  She  admired  him,  as  she  ad- 
mired his  chief  and  confederate,  Ian  Veg,  for  inveter- 
ate, invincible  loyalty  to  a  lost  cause,  but  wished  with 
some  degree  of  fervour  they  could  execute  their 
schemes  of  help  and  vengeance  without  involving  her. 

When  Alick  disappeared,  grinning  blissfully,  she 
turned  back  into  the  room,  her  face  all  at  once  fallen 
to  a  wistful  seriousness,  shut  the  door,  and  took  up  a 
position  by  the  window.  Never  before  had  the  inde- 
pendent, self-reliant  American  girl  felt  so  acute  a 
longing  for  a  confidante  to  counsel  and  sympathise. 
Her  grandmother  was  out  of  the  question,  Kitty  was 
gone,  and  here  was  a  matter  which  could  not  be  put 
into  a  letter. 

"  What  a  vexing  tangle,"  she  thought,  "  and  all 
through  the  meddlesome  idiocy  of  other  people." 

If  Ian  had  minded  his  own  business ;  if  Rollo  had 
not  been  an  impertinent  fool !  The  Man  of  Ross  might 
do  good  by  stealth,  but  the  plan  was  a  failure  in  Glen- 
veagle,  where  in  very  truth  every  good  and  evil  thing 
came  to  light.  What  was  she  to  do  ?  Cut  the  Gordian 
knot  of  her  difficulties  or  try  to  untie  it? 
21  313 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Before  she  could  formulate  her  thoughts  the  sound 
of  footsteps  on  the  gravel  outside  reached  her  ear, 
and  slipping  behind  silken  draperies  she  saw  her  father 
and  Norman  pass  in  close,  animated  conversation. 
What  were  they  talking  of?  Could  one  of  them  but 
guess — something.  If  Captain  MacLean  had  never 
entered  her  life  all  these  vexations  would  not  have 
come  either.  Did  she  wish  she  had  never  seen  him? 
A  hot  denial  flamed  through  her  at  the  traitorous 
thought.  Is  there  not  a  pain  that  is  the  essence  of  joy  ? 
Go  back  on  herself?  No,  never,  however  entangle- 
ments might  threaten. 

The  two  men  sauntered  on  to  an  angle  in  the 
castle  wall,  and  she  crept  forward  to  keep  them  in  view, 
taking  care  to  be  well  screened  in  case  they  should 
turn  abruptly.  At  the  corner  they  paused,  making  a 
half  turn,  so  that  she  saw  Norman's  face.  He  was 
smiling;  yet  the  smile  but  deepened  his  habitual  sad- 
ness of  expression.  That  surely  was  not  the  conven- 
tional soldier  face,  hard  with  the  insolence  of  brute 
force  and  the  trade  of  slaughtering.  It  was  strong, 
and  in  a  fury  she  could  imagine  it  terrible ;  but  its 
characteristic  quality  was  the  sensitiveness  which 
comes  of  fine  nerves,  chivalry,  and  manly  courage; 
and  she  knew,  oh,  yes,  she  knew  that  with  all  its  power 
it  was  caressingly  tender.  But  why  was  he  so  haunt- 
ingly  sad?  Was  it  because  of  the  rude  cruelty  of  for- 
tune? Or  because — but  that  guess  she  durst  not 
name.  With  the  hot  blood  surging  into  her  face  she 
blew  him  an  invisible  kiss.  Oh,  if  things  were  differ- 
ent— if  women  could  make  the  desire  of  their  hearts 
known  without  being  gossiped  about,  jeered  at,  and 
misunderstood !  Or  if  the  right  man  had  but  the  wit 
to  speak  the  right  word  at  the  right  moment ! 

The  smile  faded  from  Norman's  face,  and  the  sug- 
3H 


A  PEEP  FROM  BEHIND  CURTAINS 

gestion  of  pathos  deepened.  It  was  the  sadness  lying 
on  that  countenance  like  a  grey  pall  on  a  June  sky 
which  first  awoke  her  interest.  She  tried  to  account 
for  it ;  remembered  the  blood  of  the  Celt  flowed  in  his 
veins,  and  read  her  Renan  and  others  on  the  Celtic 
races,  pursuing  endless  myths  and  legends  through  the 
regions  of  antique  time,  and  ever  circling  swiftly  back 
to  the  point  of  departure.  Then  bit  by  bit  she  made 
out  the  romantic  story  of  his  misfortunes;  later  they 
came  much  together,  and  behold!  her  ideal  man,  the 
conqueror,  the  woman's  idol.  And  now,  as  she  had 
just  learned,  his  furlough  was  near  an  end,  and  he  was 
going  away. 

The  two  passed  out  of  sight,  and  there  fell  on  Con- 
nie an  appalling  sense  of  loneliness.  Then  as  thought 
took  wing  her  emotions  burned  afresh.  She  pressed 
her  hands  to  her  eyes  to  ease  the  ache  and  throb 
behind ;  then  as  at  a  sudden  recollection  she  took  from 
her  pocket  a  letter  which  she  began  to  read,  the  fingers 
that  held  it  trembling.  It  was  dated  New  York,  signed 
"  Jeff,"  and  was  to  this  effect : — 

"  I  was  more  of  a  straight  up  and  down  fool  than 
my  worst  enemy  would  believe  when  with  you  at  Dun- 
veagle.  But  it's  a  fact  we  never  know  our  privileges 
until  we  lose  them.  I  blame  the  motor.  It  was  a 
new  toy,  and — but  you  understand  all  that.  It's  put 
away  in  disgrace  now;  I  could  take  a  hatchet  and 
smash  the  thing  up.  That's  how  I  feel.  New  York 
is  as  gay  as  ever.  I  have  looked  round  the  clubs, 
and  the  fellows  were  howling  glad  to  see  me.  Some 
of  them  congratulated  me  on  the  happiness  which 
is  not  mine.  If  they  had  kicked  me  I  think  I'd  have 
felt  better.  I  have  done  three  first  nights  at  the  the- 
atres, and  flung  a  bouquet  at  a  prima-donna  who  was 
as  withered  as  sheepskin  under  her  paint,  besides  do- 

315 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


ing  six  dinners  in  different  places.  But  it's  no  good. 
Everything  is  out  of  joint.  The  pater,  too,  wanted  to 
know  what  I  had  been  doing  in  Europe  and  said  things 
that  are  not  pleasant  to  remember.  In  fact,  Con,  I 
am  right  down  miserable.  I  want  you.  Say  I  may 
go  back  by  the  next  steamer  and  put  this  ring,  that's 
burning  a  hole  in  my  heart,  where  it  ought  to  be. 
I  want  you  here.  I  want  you  to  take  your  proper 
place  in  society,  which  is  first  place  in  the  first  city 
in  the  world.  Come  back  and  don't  be  moping  among 
the  peat-bogs.  I'll  hate  Dunveagle  if  you  stay  there 
any  longer." 

For  Jeff  the  epistle  was  passionate,  but  the  writer 
was  not  so  absorbed  in  the  main  purpose  as  to  for- 
get all  else.  Connie  learned  that  Lord  Kinluig  had 
written  seriously  about  a  visit  to  America ;  "  and," 
added  Jeff,  "  Kit  has  ever  since  been  granting  inter- 
views to  milliners  and  dressmakers,  no  faith  tailors, 
European  style.  Suppose  you  come  out  with  Kin- 
luig. You  can't  possibly  think  of  missing  the 
season  here.  Everybody  is  asking  when  you  are  to 
return." 

She  turned  this  letter  over  curiously,  reread  the 
heading,  the  signature,  certain  passages  of  appeal. 
Was  that  the  sort  of  letter  somebody  would  write  if 
he  had  a  similar  favour  to  ask  ?  She  could  not  think 
so.  Yet  Jeff  was  as  good  as  the  best  of  his  kind,  and 
assuredly  one  of  the  prizes  of  New  York.  It  would 
be  delicious  to  reign  in  that  brilliant  court  she  knew 
so  well,  to  set  the  fashion,  to  glitter  in  and  out,  the 
cynosure  and  envy  of  a  gilded  multitude — yet — yet — 

"  Oh,  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green. 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there 
Than  reign  our  English  queen." 

316 


A  PEEP  FROM  BEHIND  CURTAINS 

A  tap  came  to  the  door,  and  a  servant  announced 
that  the  Misses  Linnie,  aunt  and  niece,  were  in  the 
drawing-room. 

She  found  the  two  beaming  in  sultry  geniality  on 
Mrs.  Ogilvie,  who  was  apologising  for  a  dulness  due 
to  headache.  Connie  played  hostess  under  a  feeling 
of  revolt,  thought  of  the  arts  of  hypocrites  and  self- 
seekers,  and  when  tea  was  brought  mischievously  pro- 
posed to  invite  the  gentlemen. 

"  We'll  see  how  spinsters  of  five-and-fifty  conduct 
their  wooing,"  she  reflected,  "  and  show  that  some  they 
affect  to  despise  are  honoured  and  welcome  here." 

Instead  of  sending  a  message  she  ran  out  herself, 
and  presently  returned  in  triumph,  bringing  Captain 
MacLean  and  her  father. 

For  the  sprightliness  and  antiquated  grace  of  Miss 
Jemima  in  greeting  Mr.  Ogilvie  she  was  prepared. 
"  Desperate  cases  need  desperate  courage,"  she  re- 
marked mentally;  and  the  good  Aunt  Jemima  had 
reached  the  point  when  action  must  be  unequivocal. 
Sweet  and  twenty  may  be  coy  and  capricious  ;  but  five- 
and-fifty,  or  by'r  lady  some  ten  years  less,  must,  to  suc- 
ceed, be  as  direct  and  resolute  in  the  quest  of  a  hus- 
band as  besiegers  about  a  fortress.  The  reception  of 
Norman  was  less  sultry,  and  Connie,  noting  the  nice 
distinction  made,  steeled  herself  for  conduct  that 
should  not  be  misunderstood.  If  these  bland  pretend- 
ers dared  by  word,  look,  or  manner  to  insult,  as  surely 
as  she  was  an  American  they  would  be  punished.  The 
captain  was  hardly  seated  when  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  with 
an  old  woman's  tact,  announced  that  he  was  about  to 
leave  them. 

"  I  think  he's  very  unkind,"  she  said,  nodding  re- 
proachfully at  Norman. 

The  Misses  Linnie  turned  heads  and  eyes  stiffly, 
317 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


as  if  the  machinery  being  rusty  and  out  of  gear  were 
hard  to  work,  and  bestowed  on  him  an  icy  look. 

"  Oh,  really !  "  said  Aunt  Jemima.  "  I  daresay  he 
finds  little  in  the  Glen  to  interest  him  now.  Things 
are  so  much  changed." 

Connie  took  a  quick  sip  of  tea  to  drown  a  fiery 
retort  in  the  birth,  for  she  read  the  innuendo  plainly. 

"  You  ancient  vixen,"  she  remarked  to  herself, 
looking  over  the  cup  rim  at  Jemima's  unctuous  face. 
"  I  daresay  he  doesn't  find  you  interesting,  anyway." 

"  The  Glen  was  always  interesting  to  me,"  the 
captain  replied,  turning  his  straight  military  eyes  on 
Miss  Linnie,  "  and  was  never  more  interesting  than 
now." 

"  Good,"  thought  Connie,  glancing  at  Aunt  Jemi- 
ma; but  that  serene  and  amiable  lady  was  unruffled. 

"  Soldiers,"  put  in  Mr.  Ogilvie,  "  must  be  where 
their  country  needs  them." 

"  And  I'm  sure  they  wouldn't  wish  to  be  anywhere 
else,"  rejoined  his  mother,  the  Highland  spirit  warm- 
ing within  her.  "  Though  when  they're  far  away  I'm 
afraid  they  forget  what's  left  behind." 

Norman  hastened  to  assure  her  she  was  mistaken, 
and  as  was  his  way  furnished  concrete  proofs. 

"  I  remember  once  in  India,  Mrs.  Ogilvie,"  he  told 
her,  "  when  the  enemy's  guns  were  actually  playing  on 
us,  overhearing  the  two  best  soldiers  in  the  regiment 
in  a  little  private  talk  at  the  bottom  of  a  ditch. 
'  Peter,'  said  one,  '  five  years  ago  this  very  day  you 
and  me  was  drinkin'  oorsels  fou  thegether  in  Scotland.' 
'  Man,  Bob,  I  was  just  thinkin'  of  it  when  ye  spoke, 
and  wishin'  to  God  we  were  drinkin'  oorsels  fou  there 
the  now.  Destroyin'  the  heathen's  dry  work.  Mind 
yer  head ;  there's  the  whistle  o'  a  shell.' " 

There  was  a  peal  of  laughter ;  but  immediately  Miss 


A  PEEP  FROM  BEHIND  CURTAINS 

Grace  remarked  in  her  frostiest  manner,  "  I  wouldn't 
like  to  have  any  one  belonging  to  me  in  the  army  ?  " 

"  Wouldn't  you  ?  "  answered  the  captain  urbanely. 
"  Unfortunately  we  cannot  all  occupy  easy-chairs  at 
home." 

"  Oh,"  chimed  in  Connie,  "  if  I  were  a  man  I  think 
I'd  be  a  soldier.  It's  splendid." 

It  was  the  first  time  the  sentiment  occurred  to  her, 
but  it  was  expressed  with  all  the  force  of  a  long-cher- 
ished ideal. 

"  Joan  of  Arc  managed  the  thing,  Con,"  her  father 
remarked. 

Thereupon  he  rose,  smiling  enigmatically,  shook 
hands  with  the  visitors,  and  carried  Norman  off  to  the 
billiard-room.  They  were  hardly  gone  when  a  horse- 
man clattered  up  the  avenue,  and  next  minute  Mr. 
Rollo  Linnie,  much  spattered  from  hard  riding,  was 
announced. 


319 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

ROLLO   DISCHARGES  A   DEBT 

WHEN  he  rode  away  some  hours  later  he  was 
flushed  and  in  choler,  the  reasons  being  chiefly  these. 
Once  rid  of  his  aunt  and  sister,  Connie  must  needs 
share  the  fun  in  the  billiard-room,  and  Rollo,  who  had 
challenged  the  captain,  was  maddened  to  observe  that 
her  interest  was  for  his  opponent's  play.  The  fellow 
was  too  evidently  worming  himself  into  favour,  and 
Rollo's  business  was  to  humiliate  him  and  reap  laurels 
by  the  same  stroke.  But  nerves  excited  by  malice 
and  wine,  a  luck  that  was  infernal,  and  that  something 
else  yet  worse  worked  together  for  discomfiture. 

In  truth  he  came  ill  prepared  for  the  task.  That 
day  he  had  been  recklessly  sociable  in  Aberfourie,  and 
riding  home  with  a  hot  mind  bethought  him  of  a 
plan  of  action.  Jeff  Dunbar  luckily  was  out  of  the 
way,  the  rejected  half-hoop  of  diamonds  doubtless 
searing  his  heart.  That  was  one  point  to  the  good. 
Against  it,  however,  had  to  be  put  the  other  point 
that  Kitty  was  also  gone,  thus  reducing  chances  and 
rendering  it  imperative  to  make  the  utmost  of  what  re- 
mained. By  the  bountifulness  of  fate  what  remained 
was  best  by  the  odds  of  two  to  one.  Shilbeck's  words 
concerning  the  whole  pile  and  the  divided  were  a 
delectable  refrain  in  Mr.  Linnie's  ears.  "  Twenty  mil- 
lions undivided,  twenty  millions  undivided,"  his  good 

320 


ROLLO  DISCHARGES  A  DEBT 

angel  chanted.  "  Rollo,  my  boy,  go  in  and  win.  You 
deserve  it,  you're  young,  you're  plucky.  You're  a  man 
of  fashion,  and  between  ourselves  you're  in  devilish 
need  of  the  cash.  Screw  up  your  courage  and  at  it." 

One  must  not  be  too  nice  about  means  when  the 
stake  is  glorious.  Already  Mr.  Linnie  had  been  re- 
buffed. Well,  what  of  that?  Is  the  victor  always 
victorious  at  the  first  attempt?  As  to  the  failure  he 
was  himself  to  blame.  He  had  been  too  precipitate, 
in  too  great  a  haste  to  clutch  the  prize;  his  zeal  had 
defeated  itself.  He  would  be  wiser  now,  but  he  must 
act  promptly.  Rumours  were  going  that  the  Ogilvies 
intended  to  return  to  New  York  for  the  winter,  and 
if  he  missed  his  chance — Rollo's  heart  gave  a  leap — 
great  heavens !  he  missed  twenty  millions,  on  the  au- 
thority of  Mr.  Job  Shilbeck. 

Under  the  inspiration  of  such  thoughts  he  turned 
aside  and  cantered  up  the  castle  avenue  in  lyrical  assur- 
ance that  faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady. 

The  presence  of  Aunt  Jemima  and  his  sister  vexed 
him  a  moment,  but  they  were  deftly  sent  home.  Next, 
and  with  a  yet  sourer  face,  he  discovered  Captain  Mac- 
Lean.  Well,  the  man  would  have  none  but  himself 
to  blame  if  he  fared  ill  at  Rollo's  puissant  hand. 

As  to  the  main  purpose  Mr.  Linnie  had  diligently 
conned  all  the  expedients  suited  to  his  case,  and  de- 
cided without  hesitation  for  instant  strenuous  siege. 
With  this  resolution  he  dismounted  and  flung  his  rein 
to  a  groom ;  with  this  resolution  he  marched  upon  the 
drawing-room  in  top-boots  and  routed  his  aunt  and 
sister ;  with  this  resolution  steeled  and  fixed  he  sought 
the  billiard-room  to  humiliate  Norman. 

The  start  was  inauspicious.  He  missed  what  a 
child  would  have  taken ;  left  the  balls  so  that  a  child 
could  not  help  scoring.  He  bit  his  lip,  the  sallow 

321 


A   SON   OF  GAD 


face  flushing  dangerously.  It  is  characteristic  of  the 
old  Adam  that  in  a  pinch  his  instinct  is  to  seize  his 
club  and  strike.  Rollo's  fingers  were  about  the  cue, 
but  where  they  ached  to  be  was  about  his  opponent's 
throat. 

Refreshments  came  in,  and  he  drank  greedily,  but 
the  liquid  was  as  oil  to  fire.  His  hand  became  so 
tremulous  that  more  than  once  he  had  to  pause  on  his 
stroke  to  take  breath,  a  circumstance  which  incensed 
him  the  more ;  and  no  one  looking  on  was  surprised 
when  at  length  the  cue  tore  through  the  cloth.  He 
turned  away  with  an  exclamation  of  disgust. 

"  I  can't  play  to-night,"  he  cried,  and  had  just 
sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  express  regret  to  Mr. 
Ogilvie. 

The  millionaire  smiled  genially. 

"  The  best  of  hands  will  shake  at  times,  Mr.  Lin- 
nie,"  he  said.  "  Besides,  there  are  worse  misfortunes 
than  a  cut  cloth." 

Divining  the  effect  of  his  presence  on  Rollo,  Nor- 
man would  have  left,  but  Connie  contrived  to  detain 
him,  and  Mr.  Linnie  went  first. 

Vengefully  disappointed  and  bitter,  he  rode  into 
the  night.  He  was  baffled  now,  but  not  beaten ;  not 
beaten,  he  repeated,  waving  his  whip  in  air  and  bring- 
ing it  down  cruelly  on  his  horse's  flank.  Would  he 
could  bring  it  down  on  MacLean's  head.  He  would 
bring  down  something  heavier,  ay,  very  much  heavier. 
Opportunity  was  not  yet  exhausted.  In  this  flaming 
mind  he  reached  the  avenue  gate,  and  spying  a  man 
outside  in  the  road,  called  more  peremptorily  than  he 
knew,  "  Hi,  come  here,  will  you,  and  open  this  gate 
for  me." 

The  figure  swung  round,  cocked  its  head,  put  its 
hands  in  its  pockets,  and  sniggered. 

322 


ROLLO  DISCHARGES  A  DEBT 

"  Maybe  you'll  just  try  the  plan  of  opening  it  yer- 
self,  Mr.  Linnie,"  it  answered. 

In  the  darkness  Rollo  could  not  recognise  the  face, 
but  the  voice  was  unmistakable.  Jerking  his  horse 
angrily  into  position,  he  stooped,  pulled  the  gate  open, 
and  passed  through  to  devote  his  attention  to  the 
figure  in  the  road. 

"  It's  you,"  he  hissed.  "  I  might  have  known  you 
wouldn't  oblige  me,"  and  made  a  motion  as  if  he  meant 
to  strike  with  his  whip. 

"  Ay,"  quoth  Ian  Veg,  "  you're  quite  right  there, 
sir.  I  haf  no  reason  that  I  can  mind  to  be  obliging." 

With  a  muttered  imprecation  Rollo  turned  to  go. 

"  I'm  saying,  Mr.  Linnie,"  Ian  called,  "  you'll  not 
be  forgetting  the  half-croons." 

Rollo  wheeled  as  wheels  the  trooper  to  cleave  an 
adversary. 

"  Half-croons,"  he  repeated,  his  horse  almost  tread- 
ing upon  Ian.  "  I  know  what  you  deserve  more." 

"  Will  you  be  keeping  back  your  beast,  sir?"  Ian 
said.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  there's  corns  on  my  toes. 
You  were  saying  what  I  deserve." 

"  Your  insolent  head  cracked,"  cried  Linnie. 
"  That's  what  you  deserve." 

"  But  you'll  not  be  thinking  of  that,  sir,"  Ian  re- 
turned nonchalantly.  "  Maybe  it's  not  just  what  you'd 
call  the  best  of  heads,  but  it's  done  me  a  long  while 
now,  and  a  crack  would  not  likely  improve  it.  So 
you'll  just  let  the  head  alone,  sir." 

"  Learn  to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  it,  then,"  re- 
torted Linnie. 

"  I'm  a  bit  old  to  begin  the  learning  now,"  said 
Ian,  keeping  well  on  guard,  "  though  if  you  wass  to 
show  me  the  way  I  might  try.  But  I  wouldn't  haf 
you  miscalling  my  tongue.  Never  a  word  passed  it 

323 


A    SON    OF    GrAD 


to  you,  Mr.  Linnie,  but  the  truth.     If  the  truth  will 
not  always  taste  well,  iss  that  my  fault  ?  " 

"  Take  care,"  cried  Linnie,  bending  forward  trucu- 
lently. "  Take  care.  Your  insolence  may  have  its 
reward  quicker  than  you  expect." 

"  You'll  be  giving  that  another  thought,  I'm  think- 
ing, Mr.  Linnie,"  Ian  responded  unmoved. 

"  And  why  should  I  ?  "  Rollo  demanded  from  be- 
tween set  teeth.  "  Why  should  I  ?  Answer  me  that." 

"  Because  if  you  and  me  wass  to  come  to  grips " 

"Grips,"  repeated  Rollo,  "grips?  Do  you  think 
I'd  dirty  my  hands  coming  to  grips  with  you?" 

"  A  little  while  ago  you  wass  not  so  anxious  to 
keep  them  clean,"  was  the  cool  response.  "  Maybe 
you  wass  too  far  gone.  A  man  is  not  always  able  to 
mind  when  he's  sober  what  he  did  in  drink." 

"  Mackern,"  cried  the  man  above,  bending  again, 
"  I've  a  very  good  mind  to  teach  your  tongue  some 
manners." 

"  Indeed,  it's  not  worth  your  while,  sir,"  was  the 
answer.  "  There's  just  the  two  half-croons  atween  us, 
and  if  you'll  be  paying  I'll  be  jogging,  for  I'm  on  the 
laird's  business,  and  you  know  he  wass  never  good  at 
the  waiting.  If  you'll  not  be  paying  I  just  wanted  to 
mention  Alick  wass  saying  he  would  not  fash  himself 
holding  in  any  longer.  And  it's  just  come  to  this,  Mr. 
Linnie,  that  we  can  make  shift  to  do  without  the  half- 
croons  if  you  make  shift  to  do  with  the  clyping." 

The  man  on  the  horse  thrust  his  hand  into  his 
pocket,  brought  forth  two  half-crowns,  and  flung  them 
at  Ian. 

"  There,"  he  cried,  "  there's  your  money." 

"  Wass  it  in  the  bargain  that  I  wass  to  search  for 
them  in  the  dark  ?  "  Ian  asked,  moving  neither  hand 
nor  foot. 

324 


ROLLO  DISCHARGES  A  DEBT 

"  Ugh,  you  turn  my  stomach ! "  Rollo  answered, 
throwing  himself  from  his  horse.  He  struck  a  match, 
picked  up  the  coins,  and  put  them  into  lan's  hand. 

"  Does  that  satisfy  you  ?  "  he  demanded  ferocious- 
ly. "  And  now  listen — if  red-head  or  you  ever  say  a 
word  of  all  this,  as  sure's  the  sky's  above  you'll  rue  it ! 
You  hear?" 

"  I'm  not  deef,  Mr.  Linnie,"  Ian  responded  quietly, 
turning  to  go  his  way.  Half  an  instant  Rollo  gazed 
after  him  in  a  blazing  anger,  then  scrambled  into  the 
saddle  and  rode  off  at  a  gallop. 


325 


CHAPTER   XLV 

AN   ENCOUNTER   IN   THE   NIGHT 

MEANWHILE  Norman  followed  Rollo  leisurely,  his 
thoughts  with  those  whom  he  had  just  left.  Connie 
was  the  last  to  shake  hands  with  him,  and  he  fancied 
the  delicate  fingers  trembled  in  his  own.  But  he  must 
not  build  castles  in  Spain.  Presently  he  would  have 
the  distractions  of  duty,  and  in  the  interval  there  must 
be  no  hugging  of  delusions.  That  way  lay  bitterness 
and  disappointment. 

Behind,  little  as  he  guessed  it,  Connie  was  in  a 
feverish  perturbation.  Making  an  excuse  as  soon  as 
he  was  gone,  she  ran  to  her  own  room.  A  minute 
later  she  stole  out  like  a  thief,  hooded  and  cloaked, 
and  after  a  timorous  glance  round  lest  any  one  should 
be  spying,  walked  swiftly  in  the  direction  which  Nor- 
man had  taken. 

"  What  am  I  doing  ?  "  she  asked  herself  fearfully, 
and  womanlike  ran  on  without  trying  to  answer.  Her 
quick  eye  had  marked  the  malignancy  of  Rollo's  face, 
and  her  heart  suggested  terrible  possibilities.  As  she 
knew,  he  had  lately  been  much  ruffled  and  hurt,  and 
baffled  hope,  she  told  herself,  might  well  move  to  a 
madness  of  outrage  on  suspected  rivals.  She  had 
heard  of  such  things  ;  then  she  thought  her  fears  ridicu- 
lous. "  As  if  he  couldn't  take  care  of  himself  after  all 
he's  seen  and  done,"  she  thought.  "  Ay,  but  suppose 

326 


AN  ENCOUNTER  IN  THE  NIGHT 

an  assassin's  hand  were  to  strike  in  the  dark,"  the  insti- 
gator whispered.  "  Suppose  he  is  taken  unaware. 
Suppose " 

In  this  turmoil  of  anxiety  all  at  once  she  heard 
voices  and  stopped  to  listen,  every  pulse  in  her  body, 
as  it  seemed,  still.  A  note  of  anger  signified  an  alter- 
cation, and  she  ran  on  again.  The  note  rose  higher; 
she  heard  the  voice  distinctly  and  knew  it.  "  My 
God !  "  she  gasped,  "  they've  met.  •  They've  met" 
And  she  was  right. 

Having  galloped  half  a  mile  as  if  the  chariot  of 
death  were  at  his  heels,  Rollo  abruptly  drew  rein, 
whirled  a  second  in  vengeful  thought,  turned,  and 
rode  back  as  furiously  as  he  had  gone,  blind  as  a  mad 
beast  for  revenge.  Ten  minutes  afterwards  Norman, 
walking  quietly  homeward,  descried  a  solid  blackness 
in  the  comparative  lightness  of  the  trees.  Stooping  for 
better  observation,  he  made  out  the  figure  of  a  horse, 
and  beside  it  a  man — both  motionless.  Suspecting  an 
accident,  he  hurried  on,  inquiring  as  he  approached  if 
anything  were  wrong.  Rollo's  head  was  dizzy,  and 
his  throat  so  dry  he  could  scarcely  articulate. 

"  The  night's  fine,"  he  answered,  with  a  hard  cackle 
of  a  laugh,  "  and  I  fancied  I  might  take  the  air  without 
question.  But  it  seems  one  cannot  do  even  that  with- 
out the  meddling  of  interlopers." 

The  retort  was  both  a  rebuke  and  a  challenge. 
Norman  accepted  the  first ;  the  second  he  could  afford 
to  disregard. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  interrupting  you,"  he  said  apolo- 
getically. "  My  excuse  is  that  I  was  afraid  you  had 
had  an  accident  and  might  be  hurt." 

He  was  passing  on,  but  the  other  stepped  in  his 
way. 

"  And  it's  like  your  effrontery  to  pretend  you 
327 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


wouldn't  be  pleased  if  I  were  hurt,"  returned  Rollo,  his 
eyes  gleaming  like  a  cat's  in  the  dark. 

"  It's  a  question  we  needn't  discuss,"  rejoined  Nor- 
man, again  making  to  pass. 

"  You're  in  a  great  hurry  to  sneak  away,  aren't 
you  ?  "  said  Rollo,  maintaining  his  minatory  attitude. 
"  If  practice  makes  perfect,  you  ought  by  this  time 
to  be  a  master  of  the  art  of  sneaking,  for  you've  been 
doing  it  pretty  hard  of  late." 

It  was  a  brutal  insult,  meant  to  sting  and  provoke. 
Norman's  jaws  clenched;  he  felt  the  tightening  of 
muscle  and  that  first  sharp  leap  of  the  outraged  blood 
which  makes  for  vengeance ;  but  his  feelings  had  long 
since  been  subdued  to  the  curb,  and  it  was  with  per- 
fect self-possession  he  replied — 

"  Mr.  Linnie,  you  forget  yourself." 

"  Oh,  do  I  ?  "  retorted  Linnie,  condensing  every 
species  of  affront  and  contumely  in  his  tone.  "  Per- 
haps, then,  you'll  teach  me  how  to  remember  myself 
again.  The  present  is  always  the  best  time.  We're 
alone ;  begin  the  lesson." 

He  unlooped  the  rein  from  his  left  arm,  and  flung 
it  upon  the  horse's  neck. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  was  the  response,  "  each  of  us  may 
profitably  mind  his  own  business.  I  cannot  account 
for  the  honour  you  have  done  me  in  waiting  thus,  nor 
am  I  in  the  least  disposed  to  put  you  to  the  trouble  of 
telling  me." 

"  But  I'll  oblige  you  without  the  asking,"  replied 
Rollo,  his  voice  shrill  with  passion.  "  Perhaps  you 
think  I  was  blind  to  the  studied  insults  you  put  upon 
me  this  evening;  perhaps  you  think  I  haven't  seen 
your  infernal  insolence  every  time  we've  met  lately. 
Perhaps " 

"  I'm  not  a  road-side  brawler,  Mr.  Linnie,"  Nor- 
328 


AN  ENCOUNTER  IN  TIIE  NIGHT 

man  struck  in.  "  And  I  request  that  you  be  good 
enough  to  let  me  pass  unmolested." 

"  When  I've  told  you  a  little  of  what  I  think  of 
you,"  Rollo  answered. 

"  Pray  don't  put  yourself  to  the  trouble,"  said  Nor- 
man. "  I  am  as  little  eager  for  your  opinion  as  for 
your  company.  Make  way." 

"  D —  you,"  cried  Rollo,  in  a  hoarse  fury.  "  It  was 
always  the  way  of  the  beggarly  MacLeans  to  be  up- 
setting and  insolent  to  their  betters." 

Connie,  who  had  crept  to  within  thirty  yards  in  the 
shadow  of  the  trees,  heard  the  cruel  words,  and 
panted  to  brand  the  speaker  as  a  liar. 

"  Why  does  Norman  endure  it  ?  "  she  asked  her- 
self. "  If  I  were  a  man  I'd  thrash  him  on  the  spot — 
the — the  coward." 

It  was  well  for  Rollo,  for  himself,  and  perhaps  also 
for  Miss  Ogilvie,  that  Captain  MacLean  was  trained  to 
keep  his  head  and  his  temper  in  a  crisis.  Even  when 
taunted,  tempted,  and  stung  in  open  malice,  he  saw 
clear  as  noon  what  consequences  would  follow  if  he 
were  to  crush  this  viper  in  his  path.  To  give  Mr. 
Linnie  according  to  his  deserts  would  be  to  give  him 
victory.  It  was  impossible  for  an  officer  of  the  British 
army  to  engage  in  night  brawls  with  chance  quarrel- 
lers,  and  Rollo  knew  it. 

"  Let  me  pass  on !  "  Norman  demanded  again,  this 
time  more  peremptorily. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  nearly  done  with  you  yet,"  was  the 
response.  "  I  haven't  half  stated  how  much  I  despise 
you  ;  I  couldn't  do  it  in  a  week.  But  I  want  to  tell  you 
I  perfectly  understand  your  game.  You  affront  me 
because  you  want  to  curry  favour  with  Miss  Ogilvie — 
as  if  she  would  care  a  snap  of  the  fingers  about  a 
pauper  like  you.  She  tolerates  you  out  of  charity,  and 
22  329 


A   SON   or  GAD 


in  her  heart  despises  you  as  much  as  I  do.    There's  a 
truth  to  think  over." 

"  Oh,  what  a  lie !  what  a  lie ! "  was  gasped  in  the 
darkness  twenty  yards  away. 

From  her  hiding-place  Connie  could  discern  the 
figures  of  the  two  men  facing  each  other.  A  great 
pain,  such  as  she  had  never  felt  before,  was  racking 
her,  and  she  leaned  against  a  tree-bole,  her  hand 
pressed  to  her  heart.  What  would  happen  next? 

"  You  have  taken  it  on  yourself  to  introduce  a 
name  which  must  not  be  bandied  or  soiled  in  any 
squabble  of  ours,"  she  heard  Norman  say. 

Her  head  sang,  her  eyes  were  dazzled,  her  limbs 
could  scarcely  bear  her. 

"  Oh,  you're  on  that  tack,  are  you  ?  "  Rollo  cried. 
"  Well,  if  you  want  an  excuse,  take  it.  I  give  you 
leave ;  I  invite  you." 

He  drew  back  a  step,  crouching  like  a  tiger. 

"  We're  in  private  grounds,"  Norman  reminded 
him. 

"  That's  easily  remedied,"  Rollo  rejoined.  "  Come 
outside,  come  anywhere.  I'll  go  with  you  among  your 
bare  crags,  where  you're  at  home.  Come — I  challenge 
you." 

"  No,"  returned  Norman,  "  I  won't." 

"You  won't?" 

"  No." 

"  Ho !  so  the  white  on  the  liver's  coming  out.  And 
why  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Because,"  answered  Norman,  his  voice  ringing — 
"  because  if  I  began  I  should  kill  you." 

"  That's  like  your  d —  conceit,"  Rollo  cried  in  a 
frenzy.  "  In  Miss  Ogilvie's  name,  on  Miss  Ogilvie's 
behalf,  I  give  you  that,"  and  he  swung  his  whip,  bring- 
ing it  down  on  the  captain's  face. 

330 


AN   ENCOUNTER  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Connie  could  endure  no  more.  In  a  blaze  of  anger 
and  solicitude  she  rushed  forward,  the  rustle  of  her 
skirts  making  both  men  turn  simultaneously.  Next 
instant  she  was  by  Norman's  side.  He  was  holding 
the  whip  which  he  had  wrenched  from  Linnie ;  she  took 
it  and  flung  it  in  Linnie's  face. 

"  That  is  Miss  Ogilvie's  answer  to  what  you  have 
said,"  she  cried  in  a  white  heat.  "  Go  !  " 

He  staggered  back,  muttering  incoherent  apol- 
ogies. 

"  Go !  "  she  repeated  peremptorily.  "  You  are  in 
private  grounds.  Go !  " 

He  went,  leading  his  horse  like  a  man  without 
strength  enough  to  mount,  and  Connie  turned  to  Nor- 
man. 


331 


CHAPTER   XLVI 
NEW  YORK:  THE  EVERLASTING  LESSON 

ON  returning  to  his  customary  haunts,  Mr.  Shil- 
beck  found  his  friend  Mr.  Hiram  Brash  in  wondrous 
spirits,  and  his  friend  Mr.  Giles  Dunbar  inclined  to  be 
"  droopy  "  and  irritable.  "  Touch  of  liver  complaint,  I 
reckon,"  Mr.  Shilbeck  remarked  in  company,  but  in 
his  own  mind  assigned  another  cause  for  the  ill 
humour. 

Of  Mr.  Brash  he  had  from  the  first,  as  we  know, 
prophesied  pleasant  things.  "  If  that  boy  don't  die  rich 
he'll  die  young,"  was  the  prediction  formed  on  early 
impressions.  At  that  time  only  one  other  had  dis- 
covered Hiram's  qualities,  to  wit  the  man  who  stood  as 
Fate's  instrument  in  helping  him  over  the  first  stile. 
With  uncommon  liveliness  of  interest  Shilbeck  had 
ever  since  watched  the  progress  of  Ogilvie's  protege 
and  lieutenant,  remarking  more  than  once  in  sheer  ad- 
miration, "  That's  the  right  stuff ;  yes,  sir,  Hiram  '11 
make  things  hum  yet." 

Of  late  Hiram  had  been  fulfilling  the  friendly 
prophecy  with  remarkable  energy  and  success ;  but  as 
the  humming  was  mostly  in  the  interest  of  other  people 
he  prudently  stopped  a  moment  to  consider  the  future. 
His  judgment  was  that  having  played  jackal  so  well 
the  time  had  come  to  set  up  as  lion  on  his  own  ac- 
count. Accordingly  there  began  to  lie  upon  him  im- 

332 


THE  EVERLASTING  LESSON 

pressive  airs  of  leadership.  Besides  his  hand  was  at 
present  thrust  deep  into  the  huge  pie  which  engaged 
the  abilities  of  the  first  financial  cooks  of  the  age,  and 
there  existed  no  logical  reason  why  he  should  not  pull 
out  his  share. 

It  is  the  ambition  of  every  true  son  of  the  Repub- 
lic to  live  or  die  a  millionaire — preferably  to  live,  but 
at  any  rate,  living  or  dead,  to  be  reckoned  among  the 
owners  of  millions;  and  no  man  breathing  was  more 
loyal  to  the  national  ideal  than  Mr.  Hiram  Brash. 
The  time,  happily,  was  full  of  encouragement.  He 
looked  round  and  saw  men  far  less  worthy  than  him- 
self enjoying  the  magic  glory,  moving  in  the  magic 
circle.  He  clenched  his  massive  right  fist,  a  fist  that 
had  greased  waggon  wheels  and  was  not  ashamed — he, 
too,  could  grip  and  hold,  and  by  thunder  he  would. 

As  for  Mr.  Giles  Dunbar,  he  had  already  done  what 
few  men,  kings  or  financiers,  are  able  to  do  in  a  baf- 
fling world — he  had  outstripped  youthful  dreams  and 
aspirations.  Golden  possibilities  develop  and  increase 
as  civilisation  grows.  In  Mr.  Dunbar's  youth  what 
Mr.  Dunbar  had  actually  accomplished  would  have 
been  accounted  as  fabulous  as  a  fairy  tale.  In  talking 
with  Mr.  Rollo  Linnie,  Mr.  Shilbeck  had  put  the  Dun- 
bar  millions  at  twenty,  but  a  serious  estimate  would 
have  multiplied  that  figure  by  three,  and  left  a  snug 
fortune  of  loose  change.  But  give  a  man  a  county, 
and  he  aspires  to  a  state ;  confer  a  state,  and  he  pines 
for  a  continent.  Giles  Dunbar  had  performed  mar- 
vels beyond  imagination  in  the  day  of  small  things; 
yet  there  were  still  very  dear  objects  to  be  achieved. 
For  as  it  is  the  ideal  of  every  level-headed  American 
to  make  his  "  pile  "  more  quickly  and  splendidly  than 
anybody  else,  so  it  is  his  final  desire  to  round  off  by 
founding  and  consolidating  a  family,  that  is  by  freeing 

333 


A  SON   OF  GAD 


it  for  ever  from  the  plebeian  contact  of  trade  and  com- 
merce. Mr.  Dunbar  was  now  vigorously  engaged  in 
the  great  enterprise  of  adding  a  permanent  member  to 
the  aristocracy  of  wealth  which  is  the  pride  of  America, 
and  the  envy  of  the  whole  Christian  world  beside. 
Noble  foreigners  peck  at  it  and  sometimes,  as  Mr. 
Shilbeck  remarked,  carry  off  considerable  portions  to 
reinvigorate  effete  systems  and  replenish  exhausted 
coffers.  And  that,  too,  comes  into  the  plan  of  family- 
founding. 

Quite  recently  Mr.  Dunbar  had  made  a  startling 
discovery.  He  seldom  condescended  to  read  books ; 
being  a  practical  man,  as  he  many  a  time  observed 
himself,  he  found  the  newspapers  sufficient;  but  it 
chanced  that  being  alone  one  evening  in  his  own  draw- 
ing-room he  picked  up  a  volume  which  Kitty  had 
left  among  the  silken  cushions,  and  turning  the  leaves 
incuriously,  lighted  on  a  scrap  of  verse  which  caught 
his  eye  simply  because,  by  the  manner  of  setting,  it 
stood  out  from  the  rest  of  the  text. 

"  But  at  my  back  I  always  hear 
Time's  winged  chariot  hurrying  near, 
And  yonder  all  before  us  lie 
Deserts  of  vast  eternity." 

He  started  like  one  rudely  shocked  while  taking  his 
ease. 

In  the  intense  absorption  of  the  game  he  had  not 
heard,  or  at  any  rate  had  not  heeded,  that  flying  chariot 
of  Time.  "  It's  true,"  he  thought,  reading  the  lines 
again ;  "  yes,  it's  true,"  and  by  an  odd  coincidence  of 
association  there  came  into  his  head  other  lines  more 
startling  still — 

And  I  innll  say  to  my  soul,  Soul,  thou  hast  much  goods 
laid  up  for  many  years;  take  thine  ease,  eat,  drink,  and  be 

334 


THE  EVERLASTING  LESSON 

merry.  But  God  said  unto  him,  Thou  fool,  this  night  thy 
sotd  shall  be  required  of  tliee;  then  whose  shall  those  things 
be,  which  thou  hast  provided? 

For  a  moment  he  fell  into  a  muse.  A  snatch  of  the 
everlasting  lesson  learned  long,  long  ago  at  his 
mother's  knee  had  come  back  in  the  stillness  of  the 
evening  hour.  What  was  the  meaning  of  it  ?  He  had 
heard  the  Scotch  Mr.  Ogilvie  talk  of  people  being 
"  fey."  Surely  he  was  not  fey.  And  yet  that  sudden 
call  to  the  soul  to  dislodge,  that  resistless  flight  of  time 
— the  thought  clutched  the  heart  as  with  fingers  of  ice. 

"  It's  a  mighty  strange  thing,  this  life  of  ours,"  he 
moralised  silently.  "  You  strive  for  a  generation,  and 
just  as  you  succeed,  lie  down  and  turn  away  from  the 
whole  show  as  if  it  didn't  matter  the  toss  of  a  feather." 
Instinctively  he  looked  round  the  gorgeous  room. 
"  Yes,  it's  all  very  strange." 

Kitty's  entrance  broke  his  train  of  reflection.  The 
figure  of  the  hurrying  chariot  remained  with  him,  not 
for  sentimental  reverie  or  moral  deduction,  but  as  an 
incentive  to  make  haste.  All  men — millionaires  and 
beggars — must  go  down  into  the  unlighted  darkness; 
and  for  him  bedtime  could  not  be  far  off.  But  before 
the  grim  nurse  appeared,  imperatively  beckoning  on 
the  stair,  some  things  of  a  far-reaching,  practical  im- 
port had  to  be  done. 

He  was  bitterly  disappointed  with  the  course  of 
some  of  them.  Ready  to  grant  his  children  any  indul- 
gence which  might  promote  their  social  interests,  to 
pay  for  their  pleasure  what  kings  and  princes  could  not 
afford,  he  made  but  one  condition — that  they  should 
keep  their  wits  alert  and  profit  by  opportunity.  Now 
Jeff  had  gone  to  Europe  ostensibly  for  purposes  of 
travel,  in  reality  to  consolidate  the  family  interest  on  a 

335 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


well-planned  base,  and  came  back  unsuccessful.  He 
might  and  did  gloze;  but  the  plain  English  of  it  was 
failure,  and  failure  was  the  one  mortal  offence  which 
Mr.  Dunbar  consistently  refused  to  condone.  There 
had  been  a  hot  scene,  as  Jeff  hinted  in  the  letter  we 
have  read,  and  the  father  had  closed  the  interview  with 
a  testimonial  to  the  son  which  it  certainly  was  not 
pleasant  to  remember. 

On  landing  Mr.  Shilbeck  was  obliged  to  hurry  to 
Washington,  but  he  returned  to  New  York  as  quickly 
as  might  be,  and  immediately  made  his  familiar  way 
down  among  the  sky-scrapers  and  elevators  of  Wall 
Street.  Smoking  placidly,  he  was  whisked  up  half  a 
dozen  storeys,  and  dispensing  with  formality,  walked 
straight  in  upon  his  friend  Dunbar. 

"  The  very  man  I  wanted  to  see,"  Dunbar  cried 
heartily.  "  Looking  O.  K.,  too.  Well,  and  how's 
Europe  ?  " 

"Europe,  sir?"  answered  Mr.  Shilbeck,  seating 
himself.  "  Europe's  'bout  played  out.  I've  come 
back,  feelin'  better  disposed  than  ever  towards  the 
U-nited  States.  I  tell  you  it's  the  country." 

"So?"  said  Dunbar.    "And  how's  Ogilvie?" 

"  Spry  as  usual,"  replied  Job  laconically. 

"  And  his  place  ?    Very  pretty,  I'm  told." 

"  That's  accordin'  to  taste,"  said  Mr.  Shilbeck.  "  It 
wouldn't  suit  you,  and  it  wouldn't  suit  me.  Castle, 
I  reckon,  dates  from  the  Flood ;  antiquarian  ain't  the 
word  for  it,  though  Ogilvie  has  pulled  it  about  and 
added  and  restored  a  good  deal.  It's  dumped  down  in 
a  hollow  beside  some  runnin'  water,  and  the  woods 
crowd  round  it  so's  you  can  only  see  the  sky  and  some 
mountain  tops.  I  felt  all  the  time  as  if  there  wasn't 
air  enough  for  the  lungs." 

"  Ah,"  said  Dunbar,  "  depend  upon  it,  it's  the 
336 


women  folk  that  took  Ogilvie  there.  His  mother  be- 
longs somewhere  round  there,  and  Connie  was  always 
going  on  about  romance  and  all  that.  As  a  rule,  it 
don't  pay  any  dividend,  that  sort  of  thing,  Shilbeck. 
Guess  you  met  my  son  and  daughter  there." 

Mr.  Shilbeck  intimated  that  the  guess  was  perfectly 
correct,  whereupon  Mr.  Dunbar  touched  an  electric 
button,  as  if  a  new  and  important  idea  had  flashed 
upon  him,  told  a  boy  in  buttons  he  intended  to  re- 
main invisible  for  an  hour,  and  turned  again  to  his 
friend. 

"  Now,  Shilbeck,"  he  said,  "  if  you  have  no  objec- 
tions I  want  to  have  a  good  square  talk  with  you." 

"  Fire  away,"  responded  Job,  stretching  his  legs 
to  signify  assent  and  readiness. 

"  We're  old  friends,  aren't  we  ?  "  began  Mr.  Dun- 
bar. 

"  Nigh  five-and-twenty  years  since  we  dickered 
first,"  said  Mr.  Shilbeck. 

"  And  all  that  time  we've  known  a  good  deal  of 
each  other's  affairs.  Now,  what  I  want  to  ask  you, 
Shilbeck,  is  this,  What  were  my  son  and  daughter  do- 
ing at  Ogilvie's  place?  How  did  they  spend  the 
time?" 

"  Pretty  hard  enjoyin'  themselves,  I  judge,"  an- 
swered Shilbeck. 

"  Umph  !  "  said  Dunbar,  as  if  the  exclamation  were 
pressed  out  of  him.  "  Well,  we  needn't  be  going  about 
the  bush.  You  know  that  apart  from  business  pretty 
close  relations  have  fcr  some  time  existed  between 
Ogilvie's  family  and  mine." 

"  Folk  talk  of  an  amalgamation,"  responded  Shil- 
beck. 

"  Let  them  call  it  that  if  they  like,"  said  Dunbar. 
"  I  may  tell  you  that  something  of  the  sort  was  dis- 

337 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


cussed  and  found  feasible — yes,  perfectly  natural  and 
feasible.  Well,  Jeff  goes  to  Europe  to  ratify  the  agree- 
ment in  the  ordinary  way,  and  he's  come  back — I  dare- 
say you  know  how  he's  come  back." 

"  He  said  something  about  an  extension  of  time," 
Mr.  Shilbeck  replied,  as  if  the  matter  in  hand  were  an 
accommodation  bill  subject  to  renewal. 

"  Extension  of  time !  "  repeated  Mr.  Dunbar  in 
disgust.  "  The  triple-plated  idiot  has  come  back  with 
the  heart  of  diamonds,  or  whatever  it  is,  in  his  pocket. 
Now  what  I  want  to  find  out,  and  you're  the  only  man 
I  can  ask,  Shilbeck,  is  this — what  did  he  do  all  the  time 
he  was  staying  with  the  Ogilvie's  ?  " 

"  Pretty  much  what  he  wanted  to  do,  same's  at 
home,  I  reckon,"  answered  Job. 

"  I  want  you,  Shilbeck,"  said  Mr.  Dunbar,  "  to  do 
me  the  favour  of  speaking  your  mind  quite  plainly. 
We're  old  friends,  as  we've  just  said,  and  whatever 
you  tell  me  is  told  in  confidence.  I  beg  of  you  to 
have  no  fear  of  hurting  my  feelings.  Now  oblige 
me  by  saying  what  use  Jeff  made  of  his  time  in  Eu- 
rope." 

"  That's  a  pretty  tall  order,  seein'  Jeff's  one  of  the 
liveliest  young  men  'bout  Noo  York,"  Job  returned, 
"  and  can  cover  more  ground  in  a  given  time  than  any 
other  man  of  his  age  and  inches  I  know.  But  we're 
old  friends,  as  ye've  reminded  me,  Dunbar,  and  ye've 
told  me  to  take  no  account  of  yer  feelin's.  That's  how 
to  get  the  trewth,  generally  speakin'.  Well,  I  ain't  the 
man  to  sour  on  a  friend,  and  I'll  be  candid  'cordin'  to 
order.  What  did  Jeff  do  in  Europe?  Well,  first  he 
goes  to  Paris  and  invests  in  a  motor — fancy  vehicle, 
fancy  price.  Next  he  hires  a  native  Johnny  to  oil  the 
thing  and  speak  French  to  it.  After  that  he  crosses  to 
London,  and  I  reckon  he  just  showed  the  Britishers  in 

338 


that  city  what  a  real  live  American  can  do  when  he's 
in  earnest  about  it.  I  reckon  he  made  the  dollars 
fly " 

"  Well,  well !  thank  Heaven  we  can  afford  that,"  put 
in  Mr.  Dunbar  a  trifle  testily. 

"  He  appeared  to  be  quite  aware  of  that  fact,  and 
to  take  full  advantage  of  it,"  Mr.  Shilbeck  remarked. 
"  There  were  times  when  I  was  proud  of  Jeff,  seein'  I 
didn't  foot  the  bills.  There  wasn't  a  thing  to  be  done 
that  Jeff  didn't  do." 

"  There  you're  wrong/"  cried  his  father. 

"  I'm  referring  to  London,"  replied  Job.  "  There 
wasn't  a  thing  to  be  done  that  Jeff  didn't  do,  nor  a 
thing  to  be  seen  that  he  didn't  see,  nor  a  thing  to  be 
bought  that  he  didn't  buy,  nor  a  man,  woman,  or  child 
worth  knowin'  that  he  didn't  know.  He  was  at  din- 
ners, and  afternoon  teas,  and  horse-races,  hobnobbin' 
with  the  best  of  'em,  from  princes  and  docks  down. 
Then  he  comes  to  Ogilvie's  place,  bringin'  his  motor 
and  the  Johnny  to  oil  it  along,  and  you  just  lay  your 
old  boots  he  wakened  up  that  district  like  a  cyclone. 
There  wasn't  a  horse  in  the  county  would  take  the 
road  with  any  comfort  when  Jeff  and  the  motor  were 
about,  nor  a  livin'  thing  that  didn't  stand  aside  and  let 
him  pass,  except  the  old  laird,  that's  Ogilvie's  prede- 
cessor, and  he  came  to  grief." 

"  Came  to  grief  ?  "  echoed  Mr.  Dunbar. 

"  Yes ;  had  a  sort  of  2.40  circus  horse  he  was  ready 
to  lay  money  on  and  wouldn't  get  out  of  Jeff's  way, 
and  the  nat'ril  thing  happened — he  smashed  up." 

"  Jeff  didn't  tell  me  that." 

"Too  triflin',  likely,"  responded  Shilbeck.  "At 
Ogilvie's  place  he  was  considerably  engaged  with  that 
motor,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  say  he  was  as  lovin'  and  at- 
tentive as  a  man  with  a  half-hoop  of  diamonds  near  his 

339 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


heart  might  be  s'posed  to  be,  though  Connie  'peared 
to  cotton  all  right." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mr.  Dunbar,  drawing  a  long  breath. 
"  And  Ogilvie,  what  did  he  do  ?  " 

"  Nothin'  in  particular,"  answered  Job. 

"  That's  just  it,"  cried  Dunbar  in  vexation. 
"  That's  Ogilvie  all  over.  Said  once  a  daughter 
shouldn't  be  coerced.  Fiddlesticks !  As  if  a  daughter 
shouldn't  do  what's  right  and  proper,  as  she's  told. 
You  spoke  of  an  extension  of  time.  Now  it  may  be  all 
right,  but  I  don't  like  it.  When  a  sugar-plum's  offered 
you  open  your  mouth  and  take  it  if  you  want  it ;  you 
don't  ask  for  an  extension  of  time.  There  wasn't  any- 
body else  about,  I  guess." 

Mr.  Shilbeck  carried  his  mind  slowly  back  to  Dun- 
veagle ;  he  thought  of  Linnie ;  he  thought  particularly 
of  Captain  MacLean. 

"  Nat'rilly,"  he  began  cautiously,  "  there's  always 
folks  comin'  and  goin'  at  a  place  like  Ogilvie's.  You 
can't  plank  a  millionaire  down  in  Scotland  without 
attractin'  attention,  any  more'n  you  can  leave  a  sugar 
cask  in  the  sun  unknown  to  the  flies.  But  I  reckon 
Connie's  all  right.  The  place  is  new,  and  Jeff  was 
motorin'  and  all  that ;  but  Connie's  a  girl  of  sense, 
and  it'll  be  all  right.  And  now  since  we're  talkin' 
confidentially,  let  me  congratulate  you  about  Kitty." 

Mr.  Dunbar  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Why,"  he  asked  in  astonishment,  "  what  about 
Kitty?" 

"  You  haven't  heard,"  said  Shilbeck,  gurgling  de- 
lectably.  "  Well,  let  young  folks  tell  their  own  secrets. 
I  ain't  goin'  to,  and  you  needn't  ask  me.  Now  tell  me 
about  Brash." 

"  Brash  is  all  right,"  answered  Dunbar.  "  Brash  is 
going  full  steam  ahead." 

340 


CHAPTER   XLVII 
A  HASTY  DEPARTURE:  AVE  ATQUE  VALE 

FROM  Mr.  Brash's  point  of  view  Mr.  Brash  was 
in  fact  doing  excellently  well.  The  schemes  in  hand 
were  big,  the  prospects  golden.  Dipping  delectably 
into  the  future,  he  saw  himself  master  of  a  Fifth 
Avenue  palace  and  a  millionaire's  retinue.  Almost 
insensibly,  therefore,  in  the  frequent  consultations  with 
Mr.  Dunbar,  he  began  to  assume  the  port  and  author- 
ity of  a  principal.  The  voice,  indeed,  was  still  the 
voice  of  Jacob,  but  the  hands  were  unmistakably 
Esau's.  The  hands,  moreover,  were  near  and  exces- 
sively active,  while  the  voice  was  three  thousand  miles 
away,  and  inevitably  lost  something  of  its  force  in 
transmission.  Taking  stock,  Mr.  Brash  was  disposed 
to  felicitate  himself,  and  play  his  own  hand  as  interest 
might  dictate.  Why  shouldn't  he  follow  the  universal 
rule  ?  Did  gratitude  cry  "  halt "  ?  Pooh !  The  man 
who  was  deterred  by  gratitude  would  have  crusts  and 
husks  for  his  portion. 

Now  Mr.  Brash  on  his  own  indubitable  authority 
was  not  built  that  way.  Ogilvie  had  helped  him.  True. 
Well,  who  helped  Ogilvie,  and  who,  pushing  further 
into  the  past,  helped  Ogilvie's  helpers?  The  line  of 
helper  and  helped  ran  back  (could  it  be  traced)  to  the 
beginnings  of  Wall  Street,  a  point  which  marked  the 
limit  of  Mr.  Brash's  historical  knowledge.  Turn  and 

341 


A   SON   OF   GAD 


turn  about  was  the  great  law,  and  the  successful  ones 
were  such  as  stepped  nimbly  on  the  shoulders  of  their 
fellows.  Well,  he  guessed  he  could  step  as  nimbly  and 
deftly  as  the  best. 

He  was  vastly  encouraged  by  the  friendliness  of 
Mr.  Giles  Dunbar,  who  after  all  was  senior  partner  in 
the  great  firm,  and,  as  much  duller  eyes  than  Brash's 
could  discern,  for  the  present  ill-humoured  over  the 
hitch  in  the  proposed  family  alliance.  The  great  man 
had  written  to  Mr.  Ogilvie,  and  Mr.  Ogilvie  replied 
in  effect — 

"  There  was  a  compact,  that  was  true  ; 
But  then  she  had  a  will.     Was  he  to  blame  ?  " 

"  Where  a  woman's  life-long  happiness  is  at  stake," 
he  added,  "  there  ought  to  be  reasonable  freedom  of 
choice." 

At  that  heresy  Mr.  Dunbar's  brows  gathered. 
"  As  if,"  he  muttered,  "  any  girl  would  not  be  proud 
and  glad  to  have  Jeff.  If  it  were  only  hinted  he  were 
in  the  market !  Shucks !  Ogilvie  makes  me  sick." 

In  stress  of  emotion  Mr.  Dunbar,  like  other  men  of 
genius,  often  returned  to  the  expressive  if  inelegant 
language  of  his  youth. 

While  these  thoughts  were  vexing  the  father's  mind 
there  came  a  letter  from  Miss  Ogilvie  herself  to  the 
son,  saying  many  winsome,  womanly  things,  and  one 
thing  in  particular  which  put  the  lover  on  his  mettle. 
He  replied  passionately,  and  got  a  response  which  in 
the  circumstances  he  felt  obliged  to  submit  to  head- 
quarters. There  was  another  interview,  from  which 
Jeff  retired  with  the  limp  and  drooping  aspect  of  one 
whose  interest  in  life  is  gone. 

On  the  victor  the  effect  was  such  that  the  family 
physician  intervening,  ordered  an  absolute  rest  in  the 

342 


A   HASTY   DEPARTURE 


country.  Thereupon  the  "  bears  "  on  'Change  raised 
the  cry  of  alarming  illness,  and  the  Dunbar-Ogilvie 
stocks  were  furiously  hammered.  In  defiance  of  med- 
ical orders  Mr.  Dunbar  hastened  back  to  the  post  of 
duty,  physically  unfit,  mentally  in  a  blaze,  and  the 
"  bulls  "  had  their  innings.  The  stocks  recovered  with 
a  bound,  but  Mr.  Ogilvie,  sitting  at  the  end  of  a  wire 
three  thousand  miles  away,  thought  it  prudent  to  real- 
ise Captain  MacLean's  share.  To  Norman  it  was  a 
second  fortune,  and  his  gratitude  and  wonder  were  ex- 
pressed accordingly.  As  for  the  laird  he  was  dumb — 
whether  from  gladness  or  hurt  pride  none  could  tell. 
Half  the  money  was  at  once  set  aside  for  him;  the 
other  half  on  Mr.  Ogilvie's  advice  was  kept  fluid  for 
use  as  occasion  might  serve. 

"  I'd  employ  it  at  home  now,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 
"  I  rather  suspect  we're  in  for  squally  weather  on  our 
side,  and  it's  just  as  well  to  keep  out  of  storms  if  pos- 
sible." 

He  named  certain  stocks  and  shares  which  he  had 
himself  been  watching  with  interest  in  London,  and 
gave  introductions  which  secured  for  the  captain  "  in- 
side favours."  The  result  was  a  further  miraculous 
increase  of  capital.  For  the  first  time  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  house  it  seemed  that  whatever  a  MacLean 
touched  turned  to  gold,  and  the  experience  was  so 
novel  and  amazing  that  the  lucky  one  had  a  feeling 
of  uncanniness.  "  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  it," 
he  said,  for  army  men  are  babes  in  business.  The  laird 
too  was  astonished  beyond  expression,  and  a  little 
doubtful.  Ian  alone  took  developments  as  if  expecting 
them. 

"  Alick,  my  lad,"  he  said  one  day  while  imparting 
good  news,  "  what  did  I  tell  you  ?  The  pounds  and 
the  half-croons  iss  doing  it,  and  you'll  just  be  keep- 

343 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


ing  up  your  pecker.     We'll  be  back  in  the  castle 
yet." 

At  the  sign  of  squalls  Mr.  Ogilvie  had  immediately 
prepared  to  return  to  New  York,  but  on  the  cabled 
assurance  of  Brash  that  all  was  well,  and  the  knowl- 
edge that  Dunbar  was  at  the  helm,  he  altered  his  plans. 
In  this  he  was  influenced  by  a  frequently  expressed 
desire  from  his  mother  and  daughter  that  he  would 
not  leave  them  except  in  case  of  necessity.  Connie 
seemed  especially  anxious  to  keep  him  beside  her. 
He  suggested  that  if  he  went  she  should  go  with  him, 
but  the  suggestion  was  a  trifle  nervously  put  aside.  Of 
late  he  had  marked  her  absent  and  ill  at  ease,  a  cir- 
cumstance which  the  masculine  intelligence  attributed 
wholly  to  the  character  of  the  private  correspondence 
from  New  York.  It  is  sometimes  the  habit  of  shrewd 
people  to  look  abroad  for  reasons  that  lie  close  at  hand. 

Captain  MacLean  came  and  went,  a  welcome  guest 
and  companion,  and  Mr.  Linnie,  whose  hardihood  was 
beyond  all  praise,  was  permitted  to  abase  himself 
afresh,  though  very  prettily  and  firmly  a  line  was 
drawn  which  he  was  henceforth  forbidden  to  pass. 
Thus  things  went  until  the  time  was  at  hand  when 
Norman  must  return  to  duty  in  the  south. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Ogilvie  was  often  uneasy  with  the 
thought  that  his  place  was  in  New  York.  "  I  don't 
quite  like  the  look  of  things,"  he  said  one  day  as  if 
thinking  aloud,  and  Connie  pounced  on  him  for  the 
reason.  "  Oh,"  he  answered,  like  one  taken  off  his 
guard,  "  I'm  not  sure  I  can  tell  you  why.  You've  felt 
the  brooding  before  the  storm.  Perhaps  that  explains 
my  feeling  as  well  as  anything.  Probably  I'm  a  don- 
key for  my  pains,  but  I'd  like  to  be  there  myself." 

Was  he  too  fey  ?  Had  he  a  presentiment  of  things 
to  come  ? 

344 


A  HASTY  DEPARTURE 


That  very  night  there  came  a  cable  message  inti- 
mating the  first  rumblings  of  a  tempest.  A  man  of 
swift  judgment,  his  decision  was  instant,  and  within 
half  an  hour  he  was  packing  for  departure.  By  chance 
the  laird  and  Norman  were  dining  at  the  castle  on 
that  last  evening. 

"  It's  an  odd  thing,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  remarked  to  the 
captain,  "  that  I  should  be  going  to-morrow  and  you 
but  two  days  later."  And  at  parting,  "Well,  good-bye. 
Water  flows  fast  in  these  days,  and  a  good  deal  will 
probably  run  under  bridges  before  we  meet  again.  I 
thank  you  for  very  grateful  companionship,  Captain 
MacLean." 

The  captain  bowed,  and  Connie,  a  palpitating  white 
figure,  unconsciously  fastened  wide  eyes  on  his  face. 

"  I  shall  always  be  interested  in  you,"  Mr.  Ogilvie 
went  on ;  "  always — and  I  wish  you  the  best  of  good 
fortune  in  your  profession." 

Norman  replied  appropriately,  indicating  that  if  it 
were  not  foolish  impertinence  towards  one  who  al- 
ready had  all  that  man  could  crave  he  would  return 
the  wish. 

"  My  dear  Captain  MacLean,"  responded  Mr.  Ogil- 
vie, looking  at  him  very  kindly,  "  no  man  is  so  secure 
in  his  place  or  estate  that  he  can  afford  to  despise  good- 
will. Therefore  wish  me  luck." 

Norman  did,  and  they  shook  hands.  Next  day  Mr. 
Ogilvie  sailed. 

The  liner  which  carried  him  had  barely  got  the  last 
bag  of  mails  on  board  at  Queenstown  and  turned, 
the  black  smoke  pouring  from  her  funnels,  the  sixteen 
thousand  horse-power  beating  full  stroke  for  the  open 
Atlantic,  when  an  event  on  which  no  man  counted, 
though  it  was  strictly  in  the  order  of  nature,  shook 
New  York.  Another  machine  yet  more  wonderful 
23  345 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


than  the  sixteen  thousand  horse-power,  after  running 
at  high  pressure  for  half  a  century  as  if  its  action  were 
perpetual,  ceased  like  a  shivered  locomotive.  One 
morning  Mr.  Dunbar  entered  his  office  alert  and  full 
of  schemes ;  at  noon  he  was  carried  forth  silently,  reck- 
ing not  a  whit  of  success  or  failure,  or  aught  that  Wall 
Street  said  or  did.  When  the  dread  whisper  ran  men 
stared  aghast  for  a  moment  as  over  an  impossible, 
unimaginable  disaster,  then  turned  in  raging  self-in- 
terest to  a  convulsed  market.  'Change  was  panic- 
struck,  but  the  master  who  had  roused  and  allayed 
so  many  commotions,  who  had  so  often  and  so  cun- 
ningly pulled  strings  which  made  puppets  dance,  re- 
turned no  more  to  control  the  furious  elements.  He 
had  gone  home  and  ta'en  his  wages. 

The  catastrophe  did  not  come  without  warning. 
America,  it  appears,  is  hugely  afflicted  in  the  biliary 
organ.  The  engrossed  financier — who  could  not  spare 
time  to  take  a  holiday — blamed  the  liver,  sent  for  a 
bottle  of  patent  medicine,  and  went  on  amassing  mil- 
lions— a  stupendous,  unconscious  satirist.  The  har- 
assed brain  meanwhile  finding  its  protests  unheeded, 
fell  silent,  worked  a  sullen  slave  under  pressure,  and 
laid  up  vengeance  in  secret  cells  against  the  day  of 
reckoning.  Then  in  the  appointed  moment,  when  the 
schemes  of  a  lifetime  were  culminating  in  victory,  as 
in  a  lightning-flash  the  driven  slave  revolted,  and  the 
strong  man  fell  with  a  horrible,  inarticulate  gurgle — 
once  again  pointing  the  dread  sentence,  Thou  fool,  this 
night  thy  soul  shall  be  required  of  thee. 

Wall  Street,  like  its  fellows  the  world  over,  dis- 
counts human  life ;  and  the  death  of  a  king  was  the 
signal  for  a  revolution  which  made  sober  men  frenzied. 
Brash,  the  coolest  of  mankind,  went  about  dripping 
and  shouting  vociferously  what  few  heard  or  under- 

346 


A  HASTY  DEPARTURE 


stood  in  the  clamour.  He  was  as  a  man  on  a  sinking 
ship,  or  rather  a  man  perched  on  an  avalanche  who 
saw  frightful  precipices  ahead,  yet  was  impotent  in  all 
save  the  power  to  call  out  his  agony.  The  Dunbar- 
Ogilvie  interests  were  the  avalanche,  and  the  only  man 
in  all  the  world  who  could  avert  destruction  was  some- 
where out  on  the  Atlantic.  So  does  fortune  contrive 
her  ironies. 

At  Sandy  Hook  Mr.  Ogilvie  received  the  first  news 
of  the  panic  and  its  cause.  For  a  little  he  was  stupefied, 
the  first  time  that  even  a  momentary  paralysis  over- 
came that  clear  brain. 

"  Dunbar  dead,"  he  repeated  to  himself ;  "  Dunbar 
dead  and  buried."  It  could  not  be.  The  mind  refused 
to  accept  the  idea ;  then  as  it  was  driven  home  there 
came  surging  thoughts  of  the  results.  He  had  not  to 
be  told  that,  figuratively  speaking,  'Change  played 
battledore  and  shuttlecock  with  himself,  tossed  him 
as  the  sea  in  its  fury  tosses  a  skiff,  threw  him  down, 
and  trampled  upon  him  like  maniacs.  He  went  up 
the  bay  picturing  ruin  and  trying  to  estimate  what  re- 
sources might  still  remain.  The  slow  speed  of  the 
ship  moved  him  to  a  fretting  impatience.  He  wanted 
to  be  at  the  scene  of  the  wreck,  if  only  to  assure  him- 
self of  the  fulness  of  destruction. 

He  was  besieged  by  reporters,  for  every  newspaper 
in  America  lay  in  wait  for  him.  What  did  he  think 
of  the  turn  of  affairs  ?  What  did  he  intend  to  do  ?  He 
answered  with  obstinate  negatives,  knew  nothing, 
would  say  nothing,  except  that  he  was  back  "  to  face 
the  music."  At  the  wharf  he  consigned  his  baggage 
to  a  porter,  and  whirled  as  fast  as  cab  could  take  him 
to  headquarters. 


347 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 

THE   WRECK 

HE  found  the  confusion  of  desolation.  A  mighty 
hurricane  had  smitten  the  corners  of  his  house  and 
left  a  strewn  ruin.  Some  day,  when  life  is  burned  or 
frozen  off  our  planet,  or,  it  may  be,  an  erring  world 
is  shattered  because  of  disobedience  to  established  law, 
there  will  fall  the  awful,  unspeakable  silence  of  com- 
pleted havoc.  Such  a  silence  now  seemed  to  be  upon 
Mr.  Ogilvie's  world.  Why  hadn't  he  returned  sooner  ? 
Why  hadn't  they  divined  what  was  coming  ?  And,  in 
the  name  of  all  that  is  ironic  and  tragic,  why  was  he 
on  the  Atlantic  in  the  fatal  moment?  He  made  no 
doubt  he  could  have  saved  the  situation ;  at  any  rate, 
he  could  have  tacked  and  turned  in  the  storm,  taking 
advantage  of  every  flaw  and  change.  As  it  was,  the 
vessel  had  gone  full  sail  on  the  rocks,  apparently  with- 
out so  much  as  a  hand  at  the  tiller.  "  The  idiots,"  he 
said  to  himself  bitterly;  "  the  idiots." 

His  mind  travelled  back  to  Dunveagle  and  all  he 
had  left  there,  and  a  smother  of  pain  came  about  his 
heart.  Was  it  to  be  beggary?  He  winced  under  a 
fresh  pang.  All  this  would  be  in  the  British  Press,  and 
at  that  very  instant  those  whose  very  existence  was  as 
his  own  might  be  moaning  in  hopeless,  uncomforted 
distress.  That  must  not  be.  Seizing  a  cable  form, 
he  wrote  a  message  of  encouragement,  and  with  the 

348 


THE  WRECK 


act  the  whole  heart  was  animated,  for  in  quickening 
others  we  insensibly  quicken  ourselves.  With  faculties 
revived,  he  began  to  inquire  and  examine  like  an  archi- 
tect planning  reconstruction  amid  blackened  and 
toppled  walls. 

He  asked  for  Brash,  but  Brash,  it  appeared,  was 
taking  a  needful  holiday  up  the  Hudson.  A  summons 
was  sent  by  telegraph,  and  meantime  the  telephone 
brought  Jeff.  The  tale  Mr.  Dunbar  told  was  not  heart- 
ening, though  the  signs  of  personal  grief  were  less 
poignant  than  might  have  been  expected. 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  "  Mr.  Ogilvie  asked, 
getting  promptly  to  business. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  was  the  helpless  answer,  for, 
though  an  American,  Jeff  had  no  notion  of  business. 

"  I'll  think  that  out,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  responded. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Jeff  eagerly,  "  if  there  is  any 
help  I  can  give  you  personally,  you  have  only  to  let  me 
know." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  returned. 
"  Meantime,  let  me  congratulate  you  on  not  having 
had  all  your  eggs  in  one  basket." 

"  And  you,  sir?  "  Jeff  asked. 

"  I'm  here,"  was  the  answer,  "  to  sink  or  swim  with 
the  old  ship.  Otherwise,  I  haven't  your  luck,  for  it 
happened  that  most  of  my  eggs  were  in  one  basket. 
It  has  fallen,  and  you  see  the  smash.  Your  late  father, 
who  was  one  of  the  shrewdest  men  I  ever  knew,  began 
some  years  ago  to  pull  out  and  invest  in  real  estate. 
Fortunately  for  you,  it  turns  out  he  was  wise.  In 
time  I  might  follow  his  example,  but  this  has  come, 
and  I  can't  get  out,  even  if  there  was  anything  to  get 
out  with." 

Jeff  took  it  as  being  at  best  a  case  of  salvage,  and 
as  such  was  content  to  leave  it  to  the  saving  grace  of 

349 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Mr.  Ogilvie.  He  left  without  venturing  upon  private 
or  personal  matters  beyond  an  intimation  that  the 
family  expected  Mr.  Ogilvie  to  make  the  mansion  in 
Fifth  Avenue  his  home  for  the  present.  Mr.  Ogilvie 
was  politely  thankful,  but  explained  that  his  arrange- 
ments must  be  subject  to  many  unknown  conditions ; 
and  shaking  hands,  immediately  summoned  the 
broker.  As  confidential  man  on  the  spot,  he  knew 
more  than  Jeff,  but  his  story  was  no  less  dolorous. 
It  was  a  bad  smash,  a  very  bad  smash,  the  worst  smash 
he  could  remember.  For  it  was  an  onset  without  re- 
sistance, or  resistance  so  feeble  and  ill-directed  it 
counted  for  nothing. 

"  Why  weren't  you  here  ?  "  Mr.  Ogilvie  was  asked. 

"  Because  I  don't  happen  to  be  omniscient,"  he 
replied. 

"  Nothing  but  your  own  presence,"  said  the  broker, 
harping  on  the  fretted  string,  "  could  have  saved  us." 

"  And  I  was  at  sea  in  a  double  sense,"  was  the  re- 
joinder. "Tell  me,  was  the  other  side  jubilant?" 

Yes,  the  other  side  was  elated ;  and  worse  than  that, 
there  were  traitors  in  the  army  of  defence. 

"  Ah,  where  individual  interests  are  to  be  served 
that  must  always  be  the  case,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  said,  not 
without  a  touch  of  bitterness.  "  I  could  not  expect 
even  my  friends  to  throw  away  fortunes  for  me.  That's 
not  in  human  nature.  I  take  it  they  unloaded  in  a 
panic.  I've  seen  very  level-headed  men  lose  their 
wits  in  a  crisis;  but  I  hope  the  defections  were  not 
serious." 

Names  were  given,  and  at  the  mention  of  one  of 
them  the  lines  on  Mr.  Ogilvie's  face  hardened  visibly. 

"What?"  he  returned.  "You  mean  to  tell  me 
he  hammered  with  the  rest  ?  " 

It  was  pitiable  and  contemptible,  but  true.  Mr. 
350 


THE   WEEOK 


Ogilvie  gazed  very  hard  a  second  or  two,  his  lips  com- 
pressed grimly. 

"  I  think  I've  got  as  much  information  as  a  man 
can  comfortably  digest  at  one  time,"  he  said  then. 
"  Thanks  for  coming." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  It  was  hot,  but  its  touch  was 
nothing  to  the  flashing  of  his  dark  eyes.  They  burned 
with  a  Celtic  fire  of  anger. 

Two  days  passed  before  Mr.  Brash  was  well  enough 
to  return,  and  in  the  interval  the  fallen  man  had  many 
opportunities  of  realising  that  beyond  all  doubt  or 
question  he  was  down.  A  utilitarian  age  and  a  prac- 
tical people  apply  the  standard  of  the  precious  metals. 
Ogilvie  had  been  honoured  and  envied  because  he 
was  rich;  the  crowd  had  seen  him  hurled  from  his 
pedestal,  and  many  a  huckstering  financier,  who  a  lit- 
tle before  would  have  bartered  salvation  for  his  favour, 
said,  in  his  loftiness,  "  I  have  more  to  my  name  to- 
night than  Ogilvie  " ;  and  turned  to  other  gods.  In 
a  thousand  subtle  ways  it  was  proved  that  king,  presi- 
dent, or  millionaire  has  prayers  and  hosannas  just  so 
long  as  he  keeps  his  place.  Le  rot  est  nwrt;  vive  le  roi. 
He  was  a  genius  who  first  gave  the  sentiment.  Those 
who  had  once  spoken  enviously  of  Ogilvie's  success 
now  referred  pityingly  to  his  failure.  A  few  discerning 
ones  said,  "  Ogilvie's  been  in  storms  before,  and  come 
out  all  right.  He  ain't  going  to  twiddle  his  thumbs, 
you  bet."  But  the  rabble  went  its  way  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  rabble  clamouring  that  another  lion  was 
down;  and  Society  proceeded  to  make  its  arrange- 
ments, the  space  provisionally  left  for  Miss  Ogilvie's. 
name  filled  by  another. 

On  the  other  hand  there  were  numerous  signs  and 
tokens  of  goodwill.  In  a  contest  your  true  American 
is  an  electric  machine  that  goes  straight  on  without 

351 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


hesitation  or  compunction  but  having  won,  or  seen  a 
rival  fall  by  the  way,  he  sets  the  world  an  example 
in  cheery  generosity.  Thus  while  on  the  one  hand 
Ogilvie  was  battered  cruelly,  on  the  other  he  was 
embarrassed  by  sympathy  and  proffered  aid,  for  well 
they  knew  he  was  worth  helping. 

At  first  his  answer  was,  "  I  really  don't  know  how 
I  stand  yet,  nor  what  can  be  done."  Then  it  became, 
"  You're  very  kind,  but  for  the  present  I'll  just  help 
myself.  I  think  there's  bread  in  the  Republic  for  me 
yet.  Gentlemen,  I  take  off  my  coat  and  go  at  it  again." 

So  he  said  to  his  friends  in  general ;  so  he  said  with 
particular  emphasis  to  Jeff,  in  the  second  business  in- 
terview. 

"  Don't  you  risk  a  dollar  for  me,"  he  told  Mr.  Dun- 
bar,  on  some  suggestion  of  co-operation.  "  You  don't 
care  for  business  ;  I  do.  You  have  not  been  trained  to 
it ;  I  have.  Therefore,  don't  you  touch  it.  What  hurts 
me  most  now  is  the  thought  that  others  are  suffering 
innocently  through  me ;  perhaps  execrating  my  name, 
and  that's  not  pleasant.  What's  done,  we  can't  undo, 
but  we  can  draw  a  line  to  prevent  what  might  be.  I 
could  never  forgive  myself  if  I  allowed  you  to  become 
deeper  involved.  Thank  your  stars  you  are  as  you  are. 
We  walk  half  our  time  in  darkness,  and  in  the  best 
light  we  can't  see  round  corners.  Perhaps  this  is  sent 
to  prevent  greater  ills  ;  one  doesn't  know.  In  any  case 
my  duty  is  clear.  If  your  father  were  here  he  and  I 
would  stand  together;  but  he's  not  here,  and  I  stand 
alone." 

And  so  it  was. 

Brash  returned  in  a  great  fervour  of  regret  and 
sympathy ;  but  the  way  had  been  paved  for  his  recep- 
tion, and  both  were  heavily  discounted.  Mr.  Ogilvie 
was  perfectly  calm  and  absolutely  resolved.  It  was 

352 


THE  WBECK 

not  a  time  to  mar  chances  by  getting-  ruffled;  but 
neither  was  it  a  time  for  cherishing  mock  friends. 

"  It  suited  you,  Brash,"  he  said  curtly,  breaking  in 
on  Mr.  Brash's  stammerings,  "  to  clear  out,  and  you 
did.  The  only  comment  I  have  any  right  to  make  is 
that  possibly  a  more  delicate  or  more  loyal  man  would 
have  waited  till  I  got  back ;  but  you  chose  to  do  other- 
wise. This  is  a  free  country,  and  however  much  I 
may  be  disappointed,  however  much  I  may  suffer,  you 
were  merely  exercising  your  rights.  The  only  ques- 
tion for  discussion  now  is,  how  much  are  your  interests 
and  mine  still  intertwined?" 

"  I  don't  think  they're  intertwined,  at  all,  sir," 
Brash  answered. 

"  You  took  care  to  get  them  disentangled.  Well, 
that  was  prudent,  and  saves  trouble.  Technically,  how- 
ever, I  believe  you  are  still  in  my  employment.  Hence 
there  arises  the  question  of  notice  and  of  salary." 

"  No,  sir,"  cried  Brash,  his  sallow  face  flushing ; 
"  you  need  not  consider  that." 

"  Good  again.  You've  looked  to  these  things  also. 
There  never  was  a  smarter  man,  Brash,  than  yourself. 
Your  forethought  obviates  waste  of  time  and  chance 
of  misunderstanding.  Everything's  in  order;  nothing 
has  to  be  adjusted  between  us." 

"  Except,"  replied  Brash  warmly,  "  that  I'm  mortal 
sorry,  sir." 

"  For  what,  Brash  ?  For  the  crash,  or  your  own 
action  ?  " 

"  Both,"  cried  Brash,  burning  in  shame  now  that 
he  was  face  to  face  with  the  man  who  first  raised  him, 
whose  will  had  so  long  been  his  law.  "  Fact  is,  I 
couldn't  help  it." 

"  The  excuse  of  all  men  who  are  tempted  and 
yield,"  returned  Mr.  Ogilvie.  "  You  were  not  made 

353 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


for  resisting  temptation,  Brash.  Finding  it  too  much 
to  protect  me,  you  naturally  thought  of  yourself.  I'm 
not  going  to  blame  you  for  obeying  the  first  law  of 
nature.  You  were  wise.  Had  you  disobeyed,  you 
would  now  be  like  me — stripped,  as  bare  as  a  tree  in 
winter." 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,  sir,"  Brash  pleaded ;  "  you 
make  me  feel  bad.  I  ain't  ungrateful." 

"  There  is  a  proverb  in  the  old  country  that  the 
proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the  eating,"  was  the  reply. 
"  You  know  how  we  came  together,  Brash.  I  think  it 
may  fairly  be  said  I  gave  you  your  start.  But  I  didn't 
bind  or  buy.  When  I  was  absent  you  had  a  chance, 
and  took  it.  I  had  no  right  whatever  to  expect  you 
to  ruin  yourself  out  of  loyalty  to  me.  Sentiment 
doesn't  pay  in  these  times.  If  I  was  a  little  surprised, 
a  little  hurt,  perhaps,  it  only  shows  that  I  had  still 
something  important  to  learn.  I  have  learned,  and 
the  lesson  has  been  so  rubbed  in  that  I  am  not  likely 
to  forget.  Henceforth  I  shall  know  that  your  active 
and  clever  brain  is  devoted  to  some  other  interest  than 
mine." 

"  I  hope,  sir,  we  may  still  work  together,"  said 
Brash,  squirming,  with  hot  gills. 

Mr.  Ogilvie  laughed  drily. 

"  Heaven  knows,"  he  returned.  "  Misfortune 
makes  strange  bedfellows,  and  the  crooks  and  wind- 
ings of  life  are  past  all  reckoning.  We  don't  know 
what's  awaiting  us  at  the  next  bend  of  the  way.  It 
may  be  a  bridal  march,  it  may  be  a  funeral  hymn ;  a 
smiling  sun,  or  a  roaring  tornado.  To-morrow,  or  the 
day  after,  I  may  have  to  go  to  you,  hat  in  hand,  and 
beseech  you  to  help  me.  But  I  promise  not  to  trouble 
you  if  I  can  help  it.  You  may  take  it,  Brash,  that  I 
will  wear  my  nails  to  the  quick  working,  and  exhaust 

354 


THE   WRECK 

brain  and  heart  planning,  before  I  presume  to  go  to 
you." 

He  turned  away  flashing  as  if  the  interview  were 
closed,  but  swung  back  as  the  door  knob  rattled,  to  see 
the  familiar  face  of  Mr.  Job  Shilbeck. 


355 


CHAPTER   XLIX 

SHILBECK  AND   BRASH   EXCHANGE  VIEWS 

MR.  SHILBECK  advanced,  solemnly  shook  hands 
with  both  men,  and  dropped  on  a  chair,  lank  and  loose 
as  a  doubled-up  flail.  He  was  not  easily  agitated  or 
put  out,  but  the  cadaverous  sphinx  face  now  bore  in- 
dubitable marks  of  anxiety. 

"  Pretty  busy,  I  reckon,"  he  remarked,  looking  at 
Mr.  Ogilvie.  "  Things  have  humped  since  we  parted 
on  the  other  side,  haven't  they  ?  Under-pinnin'  out  of 
gear,  and  the  eternal  bottom  heavin'." 

"  Like  a  rough  sea,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  assented.  "  Yes, 
I'm  as  busy  as  the  man  who  doesn't  know  what  to  do 
first.  And  you,  what  have  you  been  doing?" 

"  Me !  Oh,  I've  been  foolin'  round  Washin'ton," 
answered  Job. 

"  And  how  are  things  at  Washington  ?  " 

Mr.  Ogilvie  was  guarding  himself  like  one  on  slip- 
pery ice. 

"  Pretty  sick,"  replied  Shilbeck,  giving  his  cigar 
stump  a  twist  of  disgust.  "  Yes,  sir,  if  you  ask  me, 
pretty  damn  sick,  anyway  in  my  department.  Looks  as 
if  the  almighty  bottom,  'stead  of  heavin',  was  knocked 
clean  out." 

He  sat  up  with  gathered  brows. 

"  What  the  tarnation  made  Giles  Dunbar  go  and 
die  ?  "  he  demanded  querulously. 

356 


AN  EXCHANGE  OF  VIEWS 

"  Couldn't  help  it,  I  fancy,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  replied, 
with  an  involuntary  glance  at  Brash ;  "  you  may  dis- 
miss the  idea  that  he  died  of  malice  prepense." 

"  I  dunno'  'bout  that,"  grumbled  Job,  his  face  a 
pucker  of  wrinkles,  and  every  wrinkle  a  grievance. 
"  Brash,  you  might  have  doctored  him  for  another 
week  or  so  till  we  got  things  straight.  They  were  for 
chuckin'  me  out  down  at  Washin'ton." 

"  Oh,  they've  grown  rude,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  continued  Shilbeck,  "  wanted  to  chuck 
me  out;  me  that's  pulled  the  strings  that  made  'em 
dance.  I  tell  you  it  wasn't  no  patent  medicine,  war- 
ranted pleasant  and  easy  to  take.  It  was  gall,  sir,  pure 
gall ;  that's  what  it  was.  '  So  this  is  your  dead  sure 
thing,  is  it  ?  '  they  said,  for  of  course  I  had  put  it  pretty 
strong  to  'em.  '  Comin'  here  with  yer  thunderin'  lies 
to  get  yer  hands  in  our  pockets,'  for  ye  see,"  explained 
Job,  "  I  was  not  only  gettin'  their  votes,  but  inducin* 
'em  to  invest  as  a  guarantee  of  good  faith — as  the 
noospapers  say — and  when  the  thing  smashed  they 
nat'rilly  rounded  on  me.  They  even  went  so  far  as  to 
say  it  was  a  put-up  job  from  the  start,  and  there  never 
was  any  real  bottom  in  the  concern." 

"  You  know  that's  a  lie,"  put  in  Mr.  Ogilvie,  with 
quiet  emphasis. 

"  Oh,  yes,  7  know  all  right,"  Job  returned.  "  But 
when  a  crowd  of  howlin'  dervishes  is  shoutin'  for  yer 
blood,  'tain't  exactly  the  time  to  argue  out  the  rights 
and  wrongs  of  a  thing.  Havin'  lost  money,  they 
weren't  just  as  reasonable  as  ye  could  wish.  So  one 
said  that  it  was  a  put-up  job,  another  that  Giles  Dun- 
bar  committed  suicide  because  he'd  been  found  out 
and  dussn't  face  the  music." 

"  And  did  they  confine  their  remarks  to  Dunbar?  " 
Mr.  Ogilvie  asked  curiously. 

357 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


"  No,  sir,"  Job  replied  quickly.  "  By  no  manner  of 
means.  They  went  for  me  as  stated,  and  since  you 
ask,  some  of  'em  wanted  to  know  what  you  were  goin' 
to  do  with  your  castles  in  Europe." 

"  Ah  !  that's  interesting." 

"  They  were  pretty  ugly,  I  can  tell  you,"  Mr.  Shil- 
beck  went  on.  "  Uglier  than  I  ever  remember  'em. 
If  Giles  had  held  on  till  you  got  back  things  would 
be  different.  Reckon  he  worried.  When  he  went  off 
to  nuss  his  liver  I  smelled  trouble  ahead  and  wired 
him  strong  to  that  effect.  He  comes  back  prepared  to 
fight,  but  next  thing  he  goes  and  dies,  and  the  whole 
darned  show  blew  up." 

"  Washington,  I  guess,  is  hopeless  just  at  pres- 
ent ?  "  Mr.  Ogilvie  said. 

"  Yes,  sir,  for  the  present  the  bottom's  clean  out  of 
Washin'ton  so  far's  our  little  schemes  are  concerned. 
Government  itself  looks  funky,  and  I  heard  more'n 
one  Senator,  who  ought  to  know  better,  holdin'  forth 
on  the  iniquity  of  trusts  and  combinations  and  Stock 
Exchange  rule  and  all  that.  Washin'ton's  heart's  in  its 
boots,  though  I  reckon  it'll  worry  round.  How's  Wall 
Street?" 

"  Sicker  than  Washington,"  replied  Mr.  Ogilvie ; 
"  a  good  deal  sicker." 

"  Then  I  reckon  I'll  go  back  to  the  country,"  said 
Job. 

"  Been  taking  a  holiday  in  the  country?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  when  Washin'ton  fired  me  out  I  reck- 
oned I'd  just  go  and  ease  my  mind  in  the  country  for 
a  spell.  That's  why  I  haven't  come  to  see  you  sooner. 
But  it  don't  matter,  seein'  our  friend  Brash  is  here." 

For  the  first  time  he  gave  a  real  attention  to  Brash, 
who  shrank  like  a  pricked  India-rubber  ball. 

"  Somebody,"  Shilbeck  went  on,  with  blundering 
358 


AN  EXCHANGE  OF  VIEWS 

frankness,  "  somebody  told  me  he  had  vamoosed  the 
ranch,  pulled  up  tent-pegs,  and  cleared  out.  I  said  it 
was  a  blank  lie.  Reckon  that's  right,  ain't  it?  " 

For  a  little  there  was  oppressive  silence.  Mr. 
Brash  flushed,  paled,  and  flushed  again.  Mr.  Ogilvie 
drew  in  his  breath  and  then  said  quietly  but  firmly — 

"  No,  it's  wrong." 

"  Wrong?  "  Job  repeated,  throwing  away  his  cigar 
in  the  excitement.  "Wrong?  May  be  you'll  have 
the  goodness  to  inform  me  if  old  mother  Earth's  stand- 
ing on  her  head.  Why,  Brash,  you  ain't  gone  and  left 
us,  have  you  ?  " 

A  fiery  shudder  passed  through  Brash ;  his  tongue 
was  palsied.  Mr.  Ogilvie  politely  stepped  into  the 
breach. 

"  Mr.  Brash,"  he  said,  "  has  done  what  every  man 
is  perfectly  entitled  to  do,  looked  after  his  own  inter- 
ests. A  man's  fortune,  like  a  man's  salvation,  is  a 
personal  matter.  Brash  has,  prudently  no  doubt,  de- 
cided that  it  will  pay  him  better  to  change  camp  and 
colours.  It's  all  in  the  way  of  business." 

Shilbeck  turned  from  Ogilvie  to  Brash. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  speakin'  generally,  that's  so,"  Brash  an- 
swered, pronouncing  his  own  doom. 

Shilbeck  tugged  at  his  goatee. 

"  Well,  if  this  don't  beat  creation,"  he  cried. 
"  Brash,  I  counted  on  you  more'n  anybody  else,  and 
when  some  coon  or  other  said  you  were  a  deserter,  and 
in  that  way  judged  there  was  no  bottom  in  our  scheme, 
I  took  the  liberty  of  tellin'  him  he  was  a  howlin'  nor'- 
wester  of  a  liar.  Now,  'pears  I  must  go  back  and 
apologise." 

Had  Brash  in  that  moment  of  shame  and  vexation 
been  a  free  agent  he  would  have  reverted  to  his  first 

359 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


allegiance,  but  as  he  was  committed  hand  and  foot 
elsewhere  there  came  the  inevitable  revulsion. 

"  I  don't  see,"  he  replied,  beginning  to  look  defi- 
antly at  Shilbeck — "  I  don't  see  why  you  should  go 
and  take  on  'bout  me  to  the  extent  of  callin'  other  men 
liars.  You  ain't  my  keeper,  and  what  I  do  or  don't  do 
ain't  your  concern  at  all." 

"  When  a  man  tells  me  what  I  don't  want  to  hear 
'bout  a  friend,"  responded  Job  impressively,  "  I  natu- 
rally and  as  a  matter  of  course  make  him  out  a  liar. 
I'm  genoowine  to  that  extent.  I  counted  on  you, 
Brash,  same  as  if  you  were  my  brother.  I  said  to 
myself,  '  Whatever  happens,  whoever  comes  or  goes, 
Brash  is  safe ;  I  know  Brash,  and  he  ain't  the  man  to 
play  low.' " 

"  Take  care  what  you  say  'bout  playin'  low,"  Brash 
cried,  with  the  ring  of  injured  honour. 

1 '  I  never  knew  him  to  act  on  anything  but  strict 
on  the  square,'  "  Shilbeck  pursued  as  if  there  had  been 
no  interruption ;  "  '  he's  as  square  as  a  four-foot  back 
kitchen  garden,  and  I'll  plug  a  hole  in  any  man  that 
says  different.'  That  was  my  feelin',  Brash,  and  I  ex- 
pressed myself  accordin'ly,  and  I  said  to  myself  further, 
'  Of  course  he  couldn't  keep  Giles  Dunbar  from  dyin' 
any  more'n  he  could  help  Ogilvie  bein'  on  the  roarin' 
ocean  when  he  was  badly  wanted  here  in  Noo  York. 
Therefore  he  couldn't  help  the  smash.  But  when  the 
storm's  over  you'll  find  Brash  where  he  ought  to  be. 
Brash  ain't  none  of  yer  willows  that  bend  this  way 
and  that  as  the  wind  happens  to  blow.  No,  sir,  Brash 
is  a  bit  of  true  American  steel.'  And  when  I  came  on 
here  and  found  you  two  together  my  heart  whispered, 
'  There,  didn't  I  tell  you  it  was  all  right  ?  Brash  is  at 
his  post ;  Brash  is  same's  you  expected.'  That's  what 
my  heart  whispered  on  enterin'  this  room,  and  now," 

360 


AN  EXCHANGE  OF  VIEWS 

Mr.  Shilbeck  continued  in  a  tone  of  profound  grief, 
"  'pears  I've  got  to  go  and  apologise  for  thinkin'  well 
of  my  friend.  If  that  ain't  hard  lines  I  won't  plump 
for  friendship  any  more." 

"  I  wouldn't  if  I  was  you,"  Brash  retorted  hotly, 
"  and  I  want  to  say  this :  don't  you  shed  any  tears 
over  me,  and  you  needn't  take  it  on  yourself  any  longer 
to  be  my  friend.  You  ain't  my  judge,  and  you  ain't 
responsible  for  my  conduct.  If  you  look  after  your 
own  doorstep  I  guess  I  can  look  after  mine." 

Shilbeck  waved  an  arm  in  pained  deprecation. 

"Shucks!"  he  ejaculated— "shucks!" 

"  'Tain't  shucks  by  a  long  way,"  Brash  cried  fero- 
ciously. "  You've  got  to  mind  your  own  business  and 
stop  meddlin'  and  jawin',  or  by  thunder  you'll  be 
sorry." 

"  Brash,"  responded  Shilbeck  despondently, 
"  you've  no  idea  how  much  I  feel  like  weeping  this 
minute.  I've  known  you  from  the  start.  I've  seen  ye 
greasin'  axles,  and  admired  the  way  it  was  done.  I 
said,  '  That's  how  axles  ought  to  be  greased,  and  the 
man  who  is  smart  in  little  things  will  be  smart  in  big 
things ;  the  man  who  greases  axles  well  is  primy  fashee 
fit  to  be  president.'  Later  on  I  saw  you  despatchin* 
trains,  and  I  said,  '  There's  a  man  who  understands 
the  whole  art  and  science  of  train-despatchin'.'  Then 
I  saw  you  at  Ogilvie's  right  hand,  and  I  said,  '  By  Jer- 
icho, if  there's  a  man  in  the  railroad  biz  in  Noo  York 
with  a  head  on  him  it's  Hiram  Brash.  Mark  me,  you 
ain't  heard  the  last  of  Brash.  Brash  is  just  beginnin'.'  " 

"  Oh,  freeze  up !  "  Brash  flung  out ;  but  Shilbeck 
went  on  without  change  of  tone. 

"  '  Some  day  Giles  Dunbar  will  die  ' — ye  see  I  was 
right — '  and  Ogilvie  will  get  tired  makin'  money,  and 
then  ye'll  see  Brash  come  out  on  top.'  All  that  I  said 
24  361 


A  SON   OF  GAD 


more'n  once ;  but  I'm  bound  to  tell  you,  Brash,  that 
your  last  act  is  somethin'  that  takes  me  in  the  pit  of 
the  stomach  and  knocks  the  wind  out  of  me.  I  didn't 
expect  it,  and  if  I  hurt  yer  feelin's  in  sayin'  so,  why, 
go  right  ahead  and  put  a  hole  in  me.  I  reckon  it  don't 
matter.  If  Job  Shilbeck  can't  be  proud  of  his  friends, 
if  he's  got  to  go  and  apologise  for  thinkin'  well  of  'em, 
why,  you  see,  the  game  ain't  worth  playin'." 

Brash,  who  was  recovering  his  nerve,  responded 
with  a  satirical  guffaw. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  right  to  kill  a  man  that's  so  beau- 
tiful and  moral,"  he  returned. 

"  I  feel  serious  over  it,  Brash,"  Shilbeck  said,  his 
lugubrious  expression  eloquently  corroborating  his 
words.  "  Yes,  sir,  very  serious.  But  of  course  you'll 
do  exactly  as  you  wish,  Brash.  Don't  let  any  senti- 
ment for  me  interfere ;  never  mind  my  feelin's.  You 
go  right  ahead — kick  away  the  ladder  when  you've  got 
up,  and  I'll  swallow  my  pride  and  go  back  sayin'  I 
was  mistaken  in  ye  and  apologise.  What  right  have 
I  to  be  upholdin'  you,  or  interferin'  ?  " 

"  You  speak  sense  at  last,"  Brash  remarked  with 
another  cackle,  "  what  right  ?  " 

"  No  right  whatever,"  Job  acknowledged  meekly, 
"  except  the  right  of  an  old  friend  and  admirer;  and 
'pears  the  day  of  friendship's  over.  That  sort  of  old- 
fashioned  truck's  played  out.  So  you  just  go  ahead, 
Brash,  and  never  mind  me." 

"  I  will,  you  old  fool,"  was  on  Brash's  tongue,  but 
he  kept  the  words  back.  He  had  all  at  once  conceived 
a  violent  dislike  for  Shilbeck  because  he  had  done 
the  man  wrong,  and  these  plaintive  reproofs  were  as 
poison.  He  rose  abruptly,  remarking  with  a  livid 
smile  that  he  couldn't  think  of  putting  a  busy  man 
to  the  trouble  of  preaching  any  more  sermons. 

362 


AN  EXCHANGE  OF  VIEWS 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said  to  Job ;  "  we  may  meet 
again." 

"  So,"  replied  Shilbeck  significantly ;  but  Brash 
had  turned  unheeding  to  Mr.  Ogilvie. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "  mortal  sorry, 
and  that's  a  fact." 

"  Thank  you,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  responded,  looking 
him  hard  in  the  eyes  so  that  he  faltered,  "  but  you  are 
a  little  ahead  of  me.  I  haven't  yet  begun  to  be  sorry 
for  myself.  Good-bye." 

A  scowl  came  into  Brash's  face ;  he  cast  a  vindictive 
glance  at  his  old  master,  turned,  and  hurriedly  left  the 
room. 

Shilbeck  held  his  breath  till  the  door  closed,  then 
leaped  like  a  wild  cat,  his  face  suddenly  wrought  to  a 
crimson  fury. 

"  Dang  his  skin !  Of  all  the  infernal,  mean,  low 
down  skunks ! "  he  cried,  striking  the  desk  with  his 
clenched  fist. 

Mr.  Brash,  pausing  expectantly  outside,  heard  the 
words,  compressed  his  thin  lips  hard  over  set  teeth, 
and  went  his  way  with  a  darkened  countenance.  Shil- 
beck should  rue  that. 

Within  Shilbeck,  recovering  from  the  fierce  recoil 
of  feeling,  went  on  to  describe  Brash's  infamous  con- 
duct, which  made  it  a  nice  point  whether  he,  the  Hon. 
Job  Shilbeck,  a  wirepuller  of  eminence  and  honour, 
could  ever  speak  to,  recognise,  or  countenance  the  man 
again. 

By  a  well-feigned  air  of  dejection  and  grief  he  had 
done  his  best  to  win  the  traitor  back  through  shame 
working  on  conscience.  But  Brash  was  not  only  im- 
penitent, but  insulting  to  boot,  and  the  galled  Shilbeck 
talked  of  treachery  in  a  foaming  torrent.  Brash  was 
guilty  of  a  heinous  offence  against  honour,  private 

363 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


friendship,  and  Mr.  Shilbeck's  purse.  Worse  than  all, 
he  went  into  the  enemy's  camp  carrying  secrets — a 
fact  which  particularly  vexed  Job,  since  his  secrets 
were  not  of  a  kind  for  malicious  opponents  and  the 
Press.  If  Hiram  blabbed — and  there  might  be  profit 
in  blabbing — he  was  undone.  Even  as  it  was,  he 
scarcely  durst  show  his  face  in  Washington.  If  Brash 
talked  he  could  not  return  until  fresh  elections  brought 
new  men  and  new  interests  to  obliterate  memories  of 
the  old.  Even  then  ill-disposed  persons  might  remem- 
ber and  jeer  to  one's  detriment.  Not  that  Mr.  Shil- 
beck  was  sensitive  over  moral  obliquity  or  brooded 
darkly  on  scorn;  his  hide  was  proof  against  men's 
tongues  so  long  as  their  acts  were  not  injurious.  He 
would  not  forgive,  no,  not  if  Brash  were  to  beseech  on 
bended  knee — a  method  which  Brash  showed  no  dis- 
position to  adopt.  Hiram  had  done  a  mean  thing,  and 
could  betake  himself  to  his  father  the  devil. 

Mr.  Ogilvie  listened  without  interruption,  and 
nodded  sympathetically,  revolving  his  own  thoughts. 
What  he  made  out  most  clearly  from  the  cataract  of 
passion  was  his  own  complete  isolation.  He  was  not 
disappointed  nor  cast  down,  for  he  came  insensibly  to 
understand  that  nitor  in  adversum  was  the  motto  for  a 
man  out  of  favour  with  fortune.  He  did  not  complain, 
had  no  thought  of  complaining.  The  master  of  the 
universe  ordained  it  so,  and  he  bowed  his  head;  yet 
the  knowledge  bit  none  the  less  keenly,  because  there 
was  no  kicking  against  the  pricks. 

He  had  now  seen  Jeff  Dunbar,  Hiram  Brash,  Shil- 
beck,  and  others ;  and  though  he  had  been  comforted 
and  encouraged  in  a  hundred  ways,  he  yet  read  as 
clearly  as  the  Babylonian  king  saw  the  writing  on  the 
wall :  "  You  stand  alone ;  you  must  fight  alone." 
Without  shrinking  he  accepted  the  judgment. 

364 


AN  EXCHANGE  OF  VIEWS 

That  evening  while  fashionable  New  York  dined 
and  dressed  for  the  play,  he  sat  down  to  write  his  first 
letter  to  Dunveagle ;  it  caused  grievous  trouble.  He 
who  was  wont  to  keep  the  pens  of  two  secretaries 
racing  together  could  hardly  find  expression  for  the 
feelings  which  seethed  and  contended  within  him, 
for  he  wished  to  tell  the  truth  without  inflicting  a 
touch  of  needless  pain.  In  the  deep  stillness  of  the 
night  this  is  what  he  finally  wrote — 

"  MY  DEAREST  CON, — I  have  waited  a  little  while 
to  take  bearings  before  writing  you  a  letter.  My  cable 
would  tell  you  something,  and  I  daresay  the  news- 
papers have  told  you  a  great  deal  more.  Don't  let 
them  vex  you.  But  I  must  tell  you,  because  I  feel 
you  would  like  to  know,  that  the  situation  here  is  very 
grave,  and  that  my  losses  and  dislocations  are  such 
as  to  make  readjustment  of  ways  and  means  neces- 
sary. I  cannot  yet  say  exactly  how  things  may  turn 
out.  The  panic  exceeded  anything  the  oldest  operator 
remembers.  Had  I  been  here  I  think  things  would 
be  different.  However,  let  that  pass. 

"  Now  that  affairs  are  settling  a  bit  people  are 
beginning  to  be  ashamed  of  themselves  for  having  so 
completely  lost  their  heads.  The  tone  in  Wall  Street 
is  distinctly  better,  which  will  help  once  I  get  my  plans 
straight.  I  stand  alone,  Con,  and  mean  to  fight  while 
there  is  a  shadow's  shadow  of  a  chance  to  retrieve.  If 
I  can  help  it  no  man  will  be  able  to  say  I  owe  him  a 
dollar;  and,  thank  God,  no  country  in  the  world  is 
so  liberal  of  opportunity  as  America.  It  is  in  a  crisis 
like  this  one  values  the  possibilities  afforded  by  the 
United  States. 

"  Already,  I  think,  I  begin  to  see  glimmerings  of 
light.  How  it  will  go  with  some  of  our  cherished 

365 


A   SON   OF   GAD 


dreams,  I  don't  know.  I  hope  for  the  best  when  my 
resources  are  all  available.  I  hope  in  particular  that 
Dunveagle  may  not  have  to  go  by  the  board.  It  is 
so  new  and  so  dear  to  us  all — to  grannie,  to  you,  to 
me — that  I  will  make  a  desperate  fight  to  keep  it. 
But  I  know,  dearest  Con,  that  if  any  sacrifice  for  my 
sake  is  needed,  my  mother  and  my  daughter  are  ready. 
I  am  proud  to  think  the  American  girl — and  despite 
your  Scotch  blood,  Con,  you  are  good  American — 
not  only  knows  how  to  rise  with  grace  and  discretion, 
but  to  stoop  with  grace  and  courage ;  and  I  would 
put  my  little  girl  against  the  world  for  good  sense. 
On  one  thing  I  am  resolved,  whatever  happens  you 
keep  your  own.  Had  this  kept  off  a  little  longer, 
Dunveagle  might  be  your  own  also.  As  it  is,  it  is 
mine,  and  must  take  its  chance  of  the  melting-pot; 
but  what  is  yours  is  yours,  and  you  keep  it. 

"  You  may  read  this  letter  to  grannie  or  not,  as 
you  think  right.  But  comfort  her  for  me.  Poor  old 
body,  this  will  be  a  sore  blow  to  her.  Well,  she  knows 
better  than  I  can  tell,  that  if  I  could  help  it  she  would 
not  suffer  a  moment's  pain  or  worry,  and  that  while 
I  have  a  head  to  plan  and  two  hands  to  execute  she 
will  not  be  forgotten.  I  had  much  more  to  say,  but 
this  is  enough  now.  Keep  up  your  heart  and  cheer 
grannie ;  I'm  all  right.  Ever  your  affectionate  father, 

"  DUNCAN  OGILVIE." 


366 


CHAPTER   L 

HOPE  AND   DESPAIR 

CONNIE  was  heroically  hoping  against  hope  when 
this  letter  reached  and  prostrated  her.  She  had  read  all 
the  early  reports  in  the  newspapers,  flung  them  away 
in  unbelieving  anger,  resolved  to  read  no  more ;  harked 
back  and  read  everything  that  appeared  concerning 
her  father  and  his  schemes.  The  British  Press, 
through  enterprising  New  York  correspondents,  fed 
her  fears  liberally,  and  kind  friends,  mostly  anonymous, 
sent  her  bundles  of  American  papers.  The  reading 
of  these  became  a  passion,  or  rather  an  intermittent 
fever,  recurring  with  painful  rigours  and  paroxysms  on 
the  arrival  of  each  fresh  batch. 

In  a  semi-delirium  she  saw  the  whole  United  States 
in  a  quiver  of  excitement.  She  knew  that  American 
public  opinion  is  gaseously  inflammable,  and  that 
torches  were  sedulously  applied ;  worse  still,  that  her 
father's  name  was  bandied  from  tongue  to  tongue, 
and  sullied  with  evil-speaking.  But  one  at  least  would 
not  believe  their  monstrous  lies,  one  at  least  would 
stand  by  him  in  the  tempest  of  obloquy  and  scandal. 
Speaking  figuratively,  she  dashed  a  defiant  fist  in  the 
world's  face,  hurling  back  the  infamies  of  traducers. 
More  practically  she  set  herself  with  cheery  fortitude 
to  comfort  and  sustain  the  afflicted  mother.  These 
ministrations  proved  the  best  of  cordials,  for  the  sun- 

367 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


shine  we  bring  to  others  first  warms  and  heartens  our- 
selves. That  is  why  generosity  is  so  good  a  medicine 
and  selfishness  so  ill  a  disease. 

Connie  had  yet  other  things  to  agitate  her,  ay, 
and  happily  to  console  her  as  well,  things  that  wound 
themselves  into  the  very  core  of  being,  sweetening 
and  purifying  like  a  holy  dew.  In  more  than  one  sense 
she  had  passed  into  a  new  existence,  blissful  enough 
in  moments  of  electrified  feeling  to  bring  oblivion 
of  all  else..  But  she  saw  Mrs.  Ogilvie's  drawn,  troubled 
face,  and  her  heart  smote  her.  So  she  forgot  herself, 
put  on  a  sunny  face,  and  thrust  malignant  and  men- 
dacious papers  out  of  sight,  asking  herself,  why  should 
they  lose  heart  ?  The  statements  of  newspapers  vying 
with  one  another  in  capping  sensation  with  sensation 
were  not  to  be  taken  as  gospel.  Wasn't  her  hero  at 
the  helm,  the  hero  who  had  never  failed  in  an  emer- 
gency and  wasn't  going  to  fail  now  ?  So  after  the  first 
shock  of  consternation  she  reasoned  in  the  privacy  of 
her  own  mind ;  so  she  blithely  assured  Mrs.  Ogilvie. 

They  were  together  when  the  letter  arrived  in  a 
batch  of  general  correspondence,  and  Connie  dexter- 
ously slipped  it  out  of  sight  in  order  to  read  it  by  her- 
self. When  the  chance  came  head  and  heart  beat  so 
tumultuously  that  for  a  moment  the  familiar  writing 
jigged  in  a  senseless  blur.  Drawing  in  her  breath  to 
steady  and  control  herself,  she  read,  first  in  a  desperate 
eagerness,  and  then  in  a  freezing  terror.  On  finishing, 
she  fell  limply  into  a  chair,  her  face  as  the  face  of  death. 
For  a  little  she  lay  quite  still,  not  suffering,  for  the 
blow  had  momentarily  deprived  her  of  sensation,  only, 
as  it  seemed,  hanging  vaguely  over  a  chasm  that  was 
horribly  black,  and  held  in  its  invisible  depths  cold, 
cruel,  sucking  waters.  In  an  instant  she  had  been 
whipped  out  of  the  warm,  ruddy,  every-day  world  into 

368 


HOPE  AND  DESPAIR 


a  world  of  dazed  brains  and  pulseless  hearts  and  im- 
potent wills  and  grey,  rent,  stricken  wastes,  a  world 
dropped  from  the  clouds,  and  held  by  some  evil  power 
suspended  over  a  yawning  silence  of  desolation. 

This  mood  passed,  and  there  arose  a  noise  as  of 
the  beating  of  drums  in  her  ears.  The  wheels  of  the 
mind,  mysteriously  loosed,  began  to  revolve  furiously. 
As  in  the  lurid  brightness  of  lightning  she  beheld  the 
scene  of  wreck  in  New  York,  with  her  father,  a  lonely, 
tragic  figure  in  the  midst,  and  herself  helpless,  beyond 
a  gulf  that  could  not  be  crossed. 

She  rose,  wringing  her  hands  in  impotence.  If 
she  were  only  a  man,  a  son  instead  of  a  daughter, 
the  world  should  see  how  she  could  fight  for  the  man 
who  had  never  seemed  so  dear,  so  brave,  so  good  as 
he  did  then.  But  a  woman — what  could  a  woman  do 
in  a  crisis  needing  strength  and  skill  ?  Nothing,  noth- 
ing. Yet  why  nothing  ?  Couldn't  she  at  least  go  back 
to  New  York  and  stand  beside  the  fighter  to  testify  a 
love  and  allegiance  that  would  go  with  him  to  death, 
if  need  be? 

In  the  intensity  of  her  emotion  she  did  not  hear 
a  slow,  weary  step  outside.  But  she  heard  the  door 
opening,  though  it  opened  very  softly,  and  turned  as 
her  grandmother  entered.  A  glance  told  the  older 
woman  that  what  she  feared  was  true. 

"  Bad  news,  dearie  ?  "  she  said  quietly.  "  I  thought 
there  would  be  a  letter  from  your  father  to-day.  Has 
it  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,  grannie,"  Connie  answered  brokenly,  her 
first  tear  falling.  "  There  is  a  letter  from  father." 

Mrs.  Ogilvie  took  a  silk  handkerchief  and  gently 
wiped  the  welling  eyes. 

"  Don't  be  disturbed  then,  dear,"  she  murmured. 

Connie  caught  her  in  a  quivering  embrace. 
369 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


"  Grannie,  you're  a  brick !  "  came  in  muffled  sobs. 
"  When  I  ought  to  be  comforting  and  strengthening 
you,  you  comfort  and  strengthen  me." 

Kissing  the  bent  head,  Mrs.  Ogilvie  softly  dis- 
engaged herself. 

"  Young  people,  dearie,"  she  answered,  stroking 
the  golden  hair,  and  again  wiping  the  wet  eyes,  "  feel 
quickly  and  deeply.  With  them  it  is  all  happiness  or 
all  misery.  Old  people  learn  to  take  life  at  best  as 
a  mixture  of  good  and  evil.  Come,  dearie,  let  me  read 
your  father's  letter." 

Connie  gave  it,  and  watched  like  one  awaiting  a 
verdict  of  life  or  death  while  her  grandmother  read. 

"  Poor  Dunk ! "  Mrs.  Ogilvie  sighed,  and  handed 
the  letter  back. 

A  new  terror  came  into  Connie's  face. 

"  Grannie,"  she  cried,  "  do  you  think  it's  ruin  ? 
You  have  had  so  much  experience ;  you  have  seen 
father  do  so  many  things ;  tell  me,  do  you  expect  him 
to  succeed  now  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ogilvie  removed  her  spectacles,  her  hand  shak- 
ing violently,  but  her  speech  and  manner  were  calm. 

"  Whatever  a  man  can  do,  your  father  will  do,"  she 
answered  with  confidence.  "  I  have  seen  him,  as  you 
say,  do  a  great  many  things,  some  of  them  very  diffi- 
cult. I'm  his  mother,  Connie  dear;  it's  hard  for  you 
to  understand  all  that  that  means.  Come  here." 

She  turned  quickly  to  the  window  which  looked 
up  over  Dunveagle  woods  to  the  hills  crowding  peak 
upon  peak  beyond. 

"  Look,  dearie,"  she  said,  pointing  to  Craigenard ; 
"  yonder  is  where  he  was  born.  The  first  look  he  ever 
gave  showing  he  knew  me  was  there,  ay,  and  the  first 
word  he  ever  lisped.  From  the  day  I  first  took  him 
in  my  arms  until  now  I  have  watched  him  without 

370 


HOPE  AND  DESPAIR 


growing  tired.  I  can  see  him  this  minute  in  his  little 
kilt  running  after  the  cows  and  the  sheep,  or  tumbling 
over  and  over  with  the  dogs,  for  he  was  always  fond 
of  fun.  Ay,  more  clearly  than  I  ever  mind  him  in 
New  York,  for  you  see  it's  the  early  memories  that 
stick.  Your  father,  Connie  dear,  in  a  little  kilt  made 
by  his  mother." 

"  God  bless  her,"  Connie  whispered,  kissing  the 
twitching  face. 

"  Thank  you,  dear.  We  need  His  blessing.  Some- 
times I  start  with  fear,  lest  we  forget  Him  in  our  pride 
and  grandeur.  It  would  be  worst  for  ourselves,  dar- 
ling, if  we  did.  He  gave  me  much  happiness.  A  bet- 
ter son  than  your  father  was  never  born  to  woman. 
Many  and  many  a  time  I've  had  a  sore  heart;  but 
it  was  never  made  sore  by  him,  except  once,  when  the 
wee  man  nearly  cried  his  eyes  out,  and  that  was  leaving 
Craigenard.  He  nearly  broke  it  that  time,  though  he 
never  knew,  and  didn't  mean  it.  Even  then  he  was 
always  thinking  how  to  please  me.  Once  I  mind  when 
things  were  going  so  bad  against  me  I  just  sat  down 
and  covered  my  face  in  my  apron,  he  came  and  pulled 
the  apron  down  and  clapped  me,  saying,  in  his  childish 
way,  he  would  always  take  care  of  me.  And  through' 
all  that's  come  and  gone,  Connie  dear,  he  has  kept  that 
promise.  He  has  taken  care  of  me.  Even  now, 
you  see,  he's  thinking  of  me.  Well,  I'm  praying  for 
him.  By  God's  grace  he'll  overcome  now  as  he  has 
done  in  the  past.  We  won't  despair." 

Connie's  rejoinder  was  another  smothering  em- 
brace. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  presently  lifting  her  head, 
"  he's  preparing  us  for  the  worst." 

"Well,  dearie,"  replied  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  with  the 
same  steadfast  quietness,  "  let  us  be  ready.  If  we  must 

371 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


leave  Dunveagle,  we'll  go  knowing  he  couldn't  help  it. 
Let  us  not  add  to  his  burden  by  murmuring,  but  rather 
see  how  we  can  help." 

"  Grannie,"  cried  Connie  in  a  breaking  voice, 
"  you're  old  and  I'm  young,  and  yet  you're  worth  a 
thousand  of  me." 

"  No,  dear,  no,"  Mrs.  Ogilvie  returned.  "  Only 
I've  lived  long  enough  to  know  that  ups  and  downs 
come  to  everybody,  the  one  as  much  as  the  other, 
and  all  for  our  own  good.  I  have  heard  that  people 
living  in  hot  countries  grow  weary  of  the  sun  and  a 
summer  that  never  ends.  Many  diseases  too  come 
to  them  that  don't  come  to  us.  It's  the  same  with 
life;  we  need  the  rain  and  the  clouds  as  much  as  the 
sunshine.  As  to  what's  good  or  bad  for  us,  we're 
children,  Connie  dear,  but  the  Father  of  all  knows 
what's  best.  It  was  a  great  thing  for  me  to  come  to 
Dunveagle.  Perhaps  I  was  too  glad,  though  it  wasn't 
the  fine  house  and  the  carriages  I  wanted.  Suppose 
we  must  leave  it  just  on  getting  settled,  some  day  soon 
we  must  leave  it  in  any  case.  And  do  you  know  that, 
although  my  kith  and  kin  lie  among  these  hills,  and 
I  love  the  very  woods  and  waters  of  Glenveagle,  I  have 
thought  at  times  lately  I'd  like  to  cross  the  Atlantic 
again  and  lie  down  at  last  beside  your  grandfather? 
At  the  great  day  it  would  be  kindlier  to  rise  together. 
So  it  wouldn't  be  so  hard  on  me  to  go  as  you  think. 
For  you,  dear,  it's  different ;  but  you  mustn't  lose  heart 
or  think  this  is  going  to  spoil  your  life.  Have  faith 
in  your  father ;  he  deserves  it.  At  present  our  duty  is 
to  show  him  we  don't  flinch." 

"  Grannie,"  returned  Coanie,  her  eyes  shining 
mistily,  "  I  said  you  were  worth  a  thousand  of  me ; 
you  are  worth  ten  thousand.  Will  you  write  to  him 
or  shall  I?" 

372 


HOPE  AND  DESPAIR 


"  We'll  both  write,  for  I  think  he  loves  us  both 
equally  well,"  was  the  answer. 

But  before  Connie  was  well  settled  at  her  desk, 
Mr.  Rollo  Linnie  was  announced.  Her  first  impulse 
was  to  send  a  curt  refusal  to  see  him.  It  was  like  his 
impertinence  to  call  at  such  a  time.  No,  she  wouldn't 
see  him.  Then  in  a  flash  it  came  to  her  how  he  might 
misconstrue  her  refusal.  She  had  no  doubt  regarding 
his  business ;  he  had,  of  course,  come  to  spy.  She 
could  see  the  cold,  heartless  smile  on  his  face.  "  So 
it  is  as  bad  as  that,"  she  fancied  him  saying  in  his  cyn- 
ical way.  "  Cannot  even  see  her  friends."  And  he 
would  go  off  spreading  insinuation  like  a  plague. 

She  was  still  in  vehement  self-debate  whether  to 
face  him  or  send  a  freezing  message  of  regret,  when 
a  second  announcement  brought  a  quick  decision. 

The  laird  had  called,  his  first  voluntary  visit  to 
Dunveagle  in  her  time.  Two  minutes  of  titivation  be- 
fore the  glass,  and  she  was  down  to  the  drawing-room, 
pale  indeed,  but  perfectly  self-possessed,  and  towards 
one  of  the  visitors  overflowing  with  cordiality. 

She  found  the  two  men  sitting  severely  and  osten- 
tatiously apart,  their  half-turned  backs  and  arched,  dis- 
dainful shoulders  expressing  immitigable  contempt 
and  enmity.  Both  rose  at  her  entrance,  but  her  eyes 
were  for  the  laird  alone,  who  with  a  glance  at  her  face 
bowed  like  a  chevalier  of  other  days  over  her  hand. 
She  lingered  graciously,  turned  to  Linnie,  and  swiftly 
back  again  to  the  laird. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  come  at  an  inopportune  mo- 
ment, Miss  Ogilvie,"  he  said,  with  a  grave  courtesy  of 
manner  which  reminded  her  of  some  one  else. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied  eagerly ;  "  I  cannot  tell  how 
glad  I  am  to  see  you." 

Linnie  expressed  the  same  sentiment,  expecting  the 
373 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


same  response,  but  she  swept  him  a  bow  which  stung 
like  a  smack  in  the  face.  The  distinction  was  too  much 
for  an  itching  pride. 

"  I  hear,"  he  said,  stiffening  and  colouring,  "  cer- 
tain reports  about  Mr.  Ogilvie's  troubles  in  America, 
though  of  course  the  newspapers  may  be  all  wrong, 
and  I  called " 

He  paused  in  confusion. 

"  To  express  sympathy,"  she  put  in.  "  It  is  good 
of  you.  My  father  is  over  in  New  York  attending  to 
his  affairs  personally,  and  I  think  that  is  all  that  need 
be  said  between  us,  Mr.  Linnie,  on  the  matter." 

Her  eyes  and  manner  said,  "  Go  now  " ;  but  as  she 
had  guessed,  he  had  come  for  information,  and  was 
not  to  be  so  easily  turned  away. 

"  If  there  is  anything,  Miss  Ogilvie,"  he  was  be- 
ginning, but  she  anticipated  him. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Linnie,  but  I  don't  think  there 
is,"  she  returned.  "  I  am  sure  you  will  forgive  me  if 
I  say  I  have  a  great  deal  to  engage  my  attention.  At 
present,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  wish  to  speak  alone 
with  Mr.  MacLean." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  retorted  Rollo,  in  a  tone 
which  told  that  at  last  he  was  past  considerations  of 
forgiveness. 

Marking  his  mood  joyously,  she  rang  the  bell. 

"  Don't  trouble,"  he  cried ;  "  I  can  find  my  way  out 
very  well,  very  well  indeed,  thank  you.  It's  an  easy 
thing  going  out  once  the  way  is  plain." 

She  smiled  in  assent. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Linnie ;  another  time  I  hope  to 
have  more  leisure." 

The  door  opened,  hung  a  moment,  then  closed  be- 
hind a  defeated  and  stricken  man. 


374 


CHAPTER   LI 

CONNIE   MAKES   A   CONFESSION 

SHE  turned  back  to  find  the  laird  on  his  feet,  as  if 
also  ready  to  go. 

"  I  am  afraid,  Miss  Ogilvie,"  he  said,  stooping 
towards  her  with  his  old-fashioned  gallantry,  "  my  er- 
rand is  as  futile  as  Mr.  Linnie's.  You  may  think  each 
of  us  was  born  far  from  the  house  of  good  manners, 
but  I  assure  you  this  visit  was  not  meant  to  be  imper- 
tinent." 

"  Please  do  not  talk  like  that,  Mr.  MacLean,"  she 
pleaded,  the  tone  and  manner  of  a  minute  before 
magically  changed. 

She  took  him  by  the  hand,  and,  hardly  sensible  of 
the  act,  led  him  to  another  part  of  the  room,  her  own 
favourite  corner,  where  they  sat  down  together.  An 
embarrassing  silence  followed.  He  saw  her  flushing 
and  paling,  noting  at  the  same  time  the  quick  flutter 
of  her  bosom,  and  said  to  himself  matters  must  be 
graver  than  he  had  fancied.  His  heart  swelled  in  com- 
passion, for  at  the  sight  of  beauty  in  distress  he  was 
a  very  Don  Quixote.  Man,  generally  speaking,  was 
made  to  fight  with,  but  woman  to  protect  and  defend. 
Yet  for  all  his  pity  he  was  careful  to  avoid  the  lugu- 
brious mien,  because  he  remembered  that  when  in  the 
depths  of  misfortune  himself,  the  sigh  and  the  woeful 

375 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


countenance  were  his  worst  cause  of  depression.  So  it 
was  with  an  air  of  positive  lightness  he  said,  pres- 
ently— 

"  I  just  came  to  say,  Miss  Ogilvie,  that  if  an  old  fel- 
low like  me  can  be  of  any  sort  of  use  to  you  in  any 
sort  of  way  during  your  father's  absence,  I'll  take  it 
as  a  favour  if  you  let  me  know." 

He  spoke  as  if  her  father  were  away  on  holiday, 
and  would  return  happy  on  the  morrow,  or  the  day 
after.  Some  people  spoil  a  kindness  by  a  funereal 
mode  of  performance ;  the  laird  was  all  for  blithe- 
ness,  even  in  deeds  of  charity. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  she  answered,  striving  hard 
to  keep  her  emotions  in  hand. 

With  Mr.  Linnie  she  had  no  difficulty,  because  she 
despised,  if  she  did  not  actually  detest  him ;  and  con- 
tempt is  an  admirable  refrigerator  for  the  feelings. 
But  sympathy  melts  like  a  south  wind.  The  very  deli- 
cacy of  the  laird,  his  obvious  desire  to  avoid  the  sore 
spot,  drew  her  irresistibly  towards  him.  It  was  as  one 
carried  whither  she  knew  not,  that  she  cried  out  after 
a  tingling  silence — 

"  Oh,  Mr.  MacLean,  you  can  help  me.  You  under- 
stand. You  have  known  misfortune  yourself." 

To  the  laird  it  seemed  an  electric  belt  had  been 
flung  about  him,  binding  him  to  this  usurper  of  his 
place. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  gazing  in  wonder,  "  I  have 
known  misfortune." 

"  Then  you  can  feel  for  others,"  she  said,  her  breath 
coming  very  quick  and  hard. 

"  God  knows  I  can,"  he  returned  rather  unsteadily. 
"  I  think  I've  come  to  the  pitch  that  if  I  saw  my  worst 
enemy  down  I'd  try  to  lift  him." 

A  new  fear  came  into  Connie's  eyes. 
376 


CONNIE  MAKES  A  CONFESSION 

"  Perhaps,"  she  cried,  "  you  consider  us  your 
enemies.  Perhaps " 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  the  laird  rejoined  impul- 
sively, "  what  makes  you  say  that  at  a  moment  like 
this  ?  If  I  give  you  that  impression  now,  call  some  one 
who  will  deal  with  me  as  I  deserve.  Your  enemy ! 
My  dear  Miss  Ogilvie,  forgive  me  if  I  decline  to  listen 
to  such  things." 

"  Ah,  but  we  are  in  your  place,"  she  persisted,  "  and 
I  know  you  loved  it  and  had  to  leave  it.  Now  I  can 
understand  what  your  feelings  must  have  been.  It  is 
only  human  you  should  dislike  those  who  displace 
you." 

"  But  I  don't,"  declared  the  laird  vehemently,  fling- 
ing truth  and  conscience  to  the  wind. 

"  I  couldn't  blame  you  if  you  did,"  she  responded. 
"  You  were  born  here ;  your  happiest  days  were 
passed  here;  here  you  had  your  greatest  loss;  here 
your  son  grew  up,  and  you  had  to  leave  it  all.  Be- 
lieve me,  I  understand  at  this  minute  exactly  how  you 
must  have  felt.  You  know  what  the  papers  are  say- 
ing," she  broke  off. 

"  Ah !  "  he  replied,  with  a  mighty  effort  to  be  com- 
posed. "  But  the  papers  are  great  liars — great  liars, 
Miss  Ogilvie." 

"  But  they  are  right  now  " — she  could  not  keep 
back  the  terrible  confession.  "  We  are  in  trouble,  Mr. 
MacLean;  great,  great  trouble." 

She  wondered  at  herself  as  she  spoke;  wondered 
above  all  that  a  MacLean  was  the  confidant,  and  won- 
dering drew  closer  as  if  for  protection. 

The  laird's  white  beard  was  twitching.  He  re- 
garded her  with  an  ineffable  tenderness,  the  tenderness 
of  a  father  for  a  daughter  in  affliction. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  with  a  quivering  lip,  "  trouble 
25  377 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


comes  to  us  all  sooner  or  later."  He  put  forth  a  hand 
unknowingly  and  laid  it  on  her  head.  "  No  one  need 
tell  me  what  it  means.  But  you  are  young  and  brave, 
and  your  father  is  clever  and  brave." 

She  seized  the  hand  that  was  on  her  head  and 
pressed  it  in  her  own.  "  Thank  you -for  that,"  she  cried. 
"  It's  noble,  it's  splendid.  He  is  clever  and  brave." 

He  made  no  attempt  to  withdraw  his  hand,  and  a 
big,  bright  tear  fell  on  it  like  a  dew-drop. 

"  There  is  no  man  I  admire  and  respect  more  than 
Duncan  Ogilvie,"  he  said,  the  strong  voice  vibrating. 
"  I  respected  his  father  before  him.  We  quarrelled, 
as  doubtless  you  know,  for  men  are  foolish — foolish, 
foolish.  But  even  then  I  respected  him  ten  times  more 
than  most  men  I  never  had  an  ill  word  with.  He 
went  away,  and  I  was  too  proud  to  call  him  back. 
Well,  I  was  punished.  The  just  God  metes  out  jus- 
tice in  His  own  good  time — not  hasting,  but  never  fail- 
ing. I  was  wrong,  and  John  Ogilvie  was  right." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  owned  so  much  openly. 
What  made  him  confess  to  this  helpless,  beseeching 
slip  of  a  girl  ?  He  confessed  because  she  was  helpless, 
because  she  was  troubled,  because  she  was  the  grand- 
child of  the  wronged  man,  and  above  and  beyond  all 
because  she  wound  about  his  heart. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated  to  tingling  ears,  "  I  was  wrong, 
and  John  Ogilvie  was  right.  I  never  knew  a  better 
man  than  John  Ogilvie ;  and  do  you  know  this,  I  ob- 
serve that  the  good  man's  son  has  often  the  reward 
denied  to  himself?  Oh,  God  deals  justly  in  the  end, 
and  don't  you  doubt  it.  He  rules  in  His  own  way; 
He  has  a  million  instruments  and  ten  million  ways  of 
using  them.  I  am  old  enough  to  have  learnt  this 
lesson,  that  the  prideful  man  is  just  like  a  bubble  or 
a  fleck  of  foam  on  the  flood.  As  you  remind  me,  I 

378 


CONNIE  MAKES  A  CONFESSION 

had  to  leave  Dunveagle;  and  who  succeeded  me? 
John  Ogilvie's  son.  And  what  is  my  place  now  ?  The 
place  John  Ogilvie  left.  I  have  read  some  books  now 
and  again,  Miss  Ogilvie,  but  I  have  never  known  nov- 
elist or  poet  who  could  devise  half  the  surprises  that 
are  every-day  affairs  with  destiny.  Why  do  I  say  all 
this  to  you,  my  dear?  I  will  answer  in  a  word:  to 
let  you  see  that  I  understand." 

"  Your  experience  is  likely  to  be  ours  too ;  we  may 
have  to  leave  Dunveagle  as  you  left  it,"  she  said,  with  a 
sob  which  racked  the  laird's  heart. 

"  God  forbid,"  he  cried  fervently.  "  You  mustn't 
give  way  to  dismal  thoughts.  If  I'm  doleful,  don't 
imitate  me.  It's  the  privilege  of  the  old  to  draw  long 
faces,  but  the  young  were  meant  to  smile." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  MacLean,"  was  the  response,  "  the 
old,  I  think,  are  braver  and  brighter  than  the  young. 
There's  grannie ;  she  puts  me  to  shame." 

"  How  is  Mrs.  Ogilvie  ?  "  the  laird  asked  gently. 

"  I  will  bring  her,"  Connie  replied,  springing  up. 
"  She  would  like  to  see  you,  I'm  sure."  And  before 
he  could  say  "  nay  "  she  was  off. 

"  Now  I've  done  it,"  he  thought,  his  eyes  fast  on 
the  door.  "  Now  in  very  truth  I've  gone  and  done  it." 

He  did  not  think  thus  regretfully  nor  self-reproach- 
fully  as  the  victim  of  a  too  generous  impulse,  but  rather 
as  one  who  surprises  himself  with  a  good  deed,  and 
on  the  whole  is  gratified. 

His  eyes  were  still  on  the  door  when  it  opened 
and  the  two  women  entered  together,  the  arm  of  the 
younger  affectionately  about  the  waist  of  the  elder. 
He  gave  the  cordial  hand  of  friendship  to  Mrs.  Ogil- 
vie, apologising  for  his  intrusion;  but  at  that  both 
called  out  in  protest,  and  he  sat  down,  bending  grace- 
fully to  their  will.  Mrs.  Ogilvie  thanked  him  in  set 

379 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


terms  for  his  neighbourly  spirit  at  a  trying  time,  and 
he  made  valorous  attempts  to  divert  her.  A  stranger 
witnessing  his  behaviour  might  well  have  reckoned 
him  frivolous,  if  not  flinty  hearted,  so  little  he  seemed 
to  be  aware  of  any  occasion  for  sighs  or  dolour.  With 
fears  of  "  a  scene  "  quick  within  him,  he  was  vividly 
eager  to  keep  Mrs.  Ogilvie  off  the  track  of  misfortune, 
for  he  reflected,  "  Woebegone  talk  leads  to  tears,  tears 
to  hysterics,  and  what  could  I  do  with  two  demented 
women  on  my  hands  ? "  So  he  dealt  out  his  gay- 
est philosophy,  clinching  light-spirited  wisdom  with 
Gaelic  proverbs,  subtly  designed  for  the  elder  woman. 

And  here  his  anxiety  nearly  defeated  itself,  for  in 
referring  to  her  son  and  his  life  and  death  grapple,  he 
remarked,  as  it  were,  sotto  voce,  Buaidh  'us  piseach  air 
a  cheann  (Success  and  luck  attend  him).  The  senti- 
ment coming  from  his  lips  made  Mrs.  Ogilvie's  face 
tremble  perilously;  but  he  was  prompt  with  a  gay 
aphorism,  and  thus  saved  the  situation. 

"  You're  a  good  Highlander  yet,  Mrs.  Ogilvie," 
he  cried.  "  Miss  Ogilvie  has  a  good  drop  of  the  blood 
too,  but  you're  out  and  out  one  of  ourselves." 

"  Till  my  last  breath,"  she  replied  ardently ;  "  till 
my  last  breath." 

"  Well,  you  mind  the  old  saying,  '  The  day's  longer 
than  the  brae ;  we'll  be  at  the  top  yet.'  " 

Swinging  deftly  into  other  waters,  he  broke  out 
on  the  wonders  of  America  to  prove  that  Mr.  Ogilvie 
must  in  the  nature  of  things  succeed,  and  succeed  bril- 
liantly. "  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  it  all,"  he  said 
modestly.  "  But,  madam,  the  most  wonderful  thing 
in  my  time  has  been  the  extraordinary,  express-speed 
advance  of  America.  I  count  the  Americans  the 
most  wonderful  people  living  on  God's  earth  to-day 
in  wealth,  enterprise,  intelligence,  and  charm."  He 

380 


CONNIE  MAKES  A  CONFESSION 

bowed  to  Connie.  "  The  country  was  lost  to  us  by  the 
muddle-headed  conceit  of  English  politicians.  Ah, 
madam,  what  we  suffer  at  the  hands  of  heaven-born 
rulers!  When  Boston  harbour  was  black  with  tea, 
and  England  was  looking  out  her  old  wives  to  chastise 
the  refractory  colonists,  the  great  Chatham  told  her  she 
couldn't  conquer  America,  and  he  was  right.  I'm 
thinking,  from  all  that  I  can  make  out,  that  America's 
turning  the  tables  by  conquering  us.  And  it  was  but 
the  other  day,  madam,  I  discovered  myself  a  bene- 
factor. You  may  well  look  surprised ;  I  was  surprised 
too.  You  may  remember  a  certain  transaction  long 
ago,  for  which  in  your  heart  of  hearts  you  blamed  me ; 
oh,  yes,  you  must ;  and  you  were  right,  perfectly  right. 
I  was  to  blame.  But  we  are  all  blind  instruments, 
working  for  results  which  we  can  neither  see  nor 
guess.  And  I  tell  you  the  best  thing  I  ever  did  for  a 
friend  was  to  send  John  Ogilvie  to  America." 

He  was  again  on  dangerous  ground,  but  proceeded 
too  impetuously  to  be  interrupted. 

"  Well,  his  son  became  the  wonder  of  a  world  of 
wonders.  He  has  done  what  I  in  my  ignorance  would 
have  said  was  impossible.  Those  of  us  who  remain  in 
the  Glen  have  narrow  ideas,  Miss  Ogilvie.  You  tell 
us  there  are  bits  of  reverses.  Well,  what  of  that? 
What  is  it  but  the  man  of  action  getting  back  into  his 
element?  Your  son,  madam,  is  where  he  likes  to  be, 
if  I'm  any  judge  of  human  nature,  a  captain  on  the 
bridge,  holding  straight  in  the  teeth  of  the  storm,  and 
well  knowing  he  controls  forces  that  will  win.  I 
wouldn't  deprive  him  of  the  stern  glee  of  contending." 

"  Why,  Mr.  MacLean,"  Connie  cried,  tears  of 
gratitude  in  her  eyes,  "  you  make  us  glad  of  a  storm." 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  was  the  reply,  "  not  every 
sailor  is  a  seaman  ;  but  some  are  born  to  ride  the  whirl- 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


wind.  Let  them  have  at  it.  Many  a  good  sword  is 
spoiled  in  the  scabbard." 

He  left  presently,  the  champion  of  these  two  dis- 
tressed women,  the  avowed  upholder  of  the  usurper  at 
Dunveagle — ay,  and  what  was  more,  glorying  in  the 
inconsistency. 

Next  day  Ian  Veg  brought  him  a  newspaper  which 
had  come  in  a  roundabout  way  from  Mr.  Rollo  Linnie. 
Ian  was  grimly  elated. 

"  We'll  see  them  out  of  that  yet,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  Oh,  ay,  and  not  very  long  to  wait  by  all  accounts." 

"  Ian  Veg,"  retorted  the  laird  savagely,  "  it  will  be 
better  for  you  to  mind  your  own  business  and  cease 
troubling  your  head  about  the  people  at  the  castle." 

And  Ian  went  off  sorrowfully  to  tell  Alick  that  the 
laird  himself  had  caught  the  Ogilvie  infection,  and,  to 
all  appearance,  caught  it  badly. 


382 


CHAPTER   LII 

AMERICAN   WOMANHOOD.      LADY   ARDVENMORE    IN 
QUEST   OF   INFORMATION 

AT  Dunveagle  the  laird's  goodwill  was  the  more 
grateful  because  unexpected.  Besides,  he  was  a  man ; 
and  though  in  "  her  hours  of  ease  "  women  may  be 
"  uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please,"  in  trouble  she 
snuggles  instinctively  to  the  stronger  nature.  And 
these  two  were  to  need  all  the  comfort  which  the  best 
goodwill  could  impart. 

A  second  letter  came,  gently  but  unmistakably 
confirming  the  worst  interpretations  of  the  first. 
There  was  neither  shrinking  nor  despondency ;  but  dis- 
aster had  to  be  faced,  a  fact  which  involved  a  radical 
adjustment  of  policy,  which  again  involved  rigorous 
retrenchment  and  a  realisation  of  assets.  A  whole  day 
Mrs.  Ogilvie  kept  her  own  room,  thinking  hard,  re- 
calling the  past  and  its  battles,  and  fortifying  herself 
for  whatever  might  come  with  the  belief  that  in  the 
worst  straits,  when  man  is  powerless,  a  higher  intelli- 
gence guides,  a  higher  will  controls.  It  came  to  that — 
that  and  an  unfaltering  faith  in  him  who  had  already 
done  so  much  and  was  still  so  eager  and  competent. 
And  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  surely  she,  of  all 
women,  knew  how  to  step  down  and  resume  her  old 
place  as  helper  and  counsellor.  She  could  still  aid  in 
the  task  of  getting  daily  bread. 

383 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


There  comes  to  old  age  a  mystic  reversion  to  the 
thoughts  and  instincts,  if  not  the  energy  and  activity 
of  youth.  The  shades  of  dawn  return  at  evening  twi- 
light, so  that  despite  the  character  of  the  day's  race, 
despite  a  great  fame  or  a  shining  fortune,  he  who  be- 
gins a  peasant  in  the  essence  of  his  being  ends  a  peas- 
ant. Dwelling  much  on  the  past,  reminded  every  hour 
of  those  borne  away  on  the  "  ever-rolling  stream  "  of 
time,  Mrs.  Ogilvie  would  have  found  it  less  hard  than 
you  would  think  to  lay  down  her  grandeur  and  take 
up  the  old  familiar  tasks.  Her  world,  though  shaken 
as  by  an  earthquake,  was  still  intact. 

Connie's,  on  the  other  hand,  was  shattered,  how- 
ever the  fragments  might  coalesce  later.  She  had 
never  known  any  other  than  the  sparkling,  sumptuous 
existence  to  which  her  earliest  remembrance  stretched  ; 
these  devastating  December  storms  were  outside  the 
course  of  Nature  as  she  understood  it  for  twenty  years 
of  a  summer  life.  Very  bravely  she  tried  to  take  her 
grandmother's  view;  but  the  philosophy  of  conduct 
is  of  all  philosophies  the  hardest  to  convert  to  reality, 
and  her  success  was  indifferent.  The  sky  had  dark- 
ened with  a  crash;  the  golden  atmosphere  grown  chilly 
and  heavy.  A  thought  which  at  first  she  rejected  as  a 
wild  impossibility  settled  by  degrees  into  numbing 
conviction,  like  a  mildew  of  the  mind  terrifying  while 
it  unnerved.  Moreover,  she  had  a  rankling  sense  of 
deception,  of  craft  and  treachery.  For  certain  hints 
dropped  without  complaint  by  her  father  suggested  a 
very  black  perfidy. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  she  cried  desolately,  "  the 
whole  world  must  turn  on  the  man  who  is  down." 

Having  assured  herself  of  swiftly  descending  ruin, 
she  wrote,  as  an  imperative  duty,  a  letter  to  Jeff  Dun- 
bar,  not  merely  removing  all  shadow  of  engagement, 

384 


AMERICAN   WOMANHOOD 

but  stating  as  in  characters  of  fire  that  this  crisis  made 
an  inevitable  parting  of  the  ways.  Jeff  was  gallant  in 
expostulation,  and  a  tenderness  which,  had  it  come 
sooner,  might  have  been  effective,  and  even  now  tore 
her  heart  roots.  All  the  same,  the  answer  was  inex- 
orable :  impossible  now,  for  ever  impossible,  that  was 
the  word  in  justice  to  him  and  to  herself.  She  would 
have  been  in  yet  deeper  misery  but  for  a  silver  lining 
to  the  cloud  which  her  eye  alone  perceived. 

The  laird  had  not  said  that  his  call  was  made  at 
his  son's  suggestion.  In  a  boiling  indignation  over 
newspaper  reports,  Norman  wrote  to  his  father  re- 
questing such  information  as  could  be  obtained  with- 
out meddling  or  intrusion.  The  reply  caused  him  a 
sleepless  night,  and  next  day  he  wrote  a  letter  which 
in  turn  produced  a  distracting  commotion.  It  was 
written  with  the  delicacy  which  half  expresses,  half 
conceals,  but  the  recipient  read  luminously  between 
the  lines,  and,  woman-like,  dissolved  in  pure  inquietude 
of  joy.  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  finding  her  in  that  evident  pas- 
sion of  distress,  asked  the  cause,  and  for  reply  received 
Norman's  letter. 

"  Isn't  it  noble  ?  "  Connie  cried,  wiping  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Ogilvie  read  deliberately,  as  if  to  get  the  full 
meaning  before  expressing  an  opinion. 

"  Very  noble,  dear,"  she  said,  lifting  her  head,  "  but 
the  MacLeans  were  always  gentlemen,  whatever  else 
they  might  or  might  not  be." 

Connie  knew  that,  but  the  knowledge  only  made 
the  question  of  behaviour  the  more  difficult.  What 
was  she  to  do?  How  was  she  to  answer?  Incapable 
of  hypocrisy,  she  would  fain  have  let  the  cry  of  her 
heart  rise  unchecked.  All  her  life  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  speak  frankly  as  she  felt.  But  how  was  she  to 
solve  the  sphinx-riddle  which,  once  at  least,  puts  every 

385 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


woman  on  the  rack,  albeit  to  torture  with  delight? 
Through  all  the  wrappings  of  language  one  thought, 
or  rather  one  feeling,  burned  clear  as  a  carbon,  ay, 
and  scorched  when  she  tried  to  smother  it.  In  her  soul 
she  revolted  passionately  against  the  convention  which 
seals  a  woman's  lips,  making  her  wait  in  silence  for  the 
word  which  the  malice  of  circumstance  may  for  ever 
prevent.  An  unspeakable  yearning  came  upon  her.  If 
only  he  were  by  to  speak  to  her,  in  that  low,  rich  voice 
that  was  itself  melody,  to  cheer  with  those  grave,  ear- 
nest eyes.  She  wanted  him  beside  her  and  dared  not 
ask.  That  was  the  cruelty  of  a  woman's  position. 

For  reasons  easily  guessed  he  would  hesitate  to 
take  the  first  step.  Pride  and  a  fear  to  offend  held  him 
back.  If  he  only  knew ;  and  why,  oh,  why  couldn't  he 
guess  ? 

In  a  torrent  of  emotion  she  replied  at  last,  saying, 
not  more  than  she  meant,  but  something  more  than 
she  intended,  posted  the  letter,  and  tormented  herself 
over  what  she  had  done.  Was  she  indelicate  ?  Would 
he  understand,  and  if  so,  what  would  he  do? — all  the 
while  feverishly  awaiting  a  response  which  did  not 
come.  Then  as  the  days  passed  with  a  narrowing 
sky  and  a  deepening  gloom,  she  began,  like  a  soul  in 
purgatory,  to  recall  word  by  word  what  she  wrote. 
She  must  have  slipped  and  bungled  somehow,  been 
too  bold  or  too  clumsy — or,  had  he  misconstrued? 
Was  that  disaster  to  crown  all  the  other  disasters  ? 

In  this  suspense  she  was  surprised  by  a  visit  from 
Lady  Ardvenmore.  Her  ladyship  had  been  much  oc- 
cupied since  the  happy  day  of  making  Miss  Ogilvie's 
acquaintance,  and  was  only  now  able  to  carry  out  a 
long-meditated  intention.  Infinitely  gracious,  and 
more  than  a  little  curious,  she  referred  adroitly  to  pub- 
lic rumours,  managing  with  high-bred  suavity  to  indi- 

386 


AMERICAN  WOMANHOOD 

cate  that  she  for  one  knew  better  than  to  believe  any- 
thing that  appeared  in  the  newspapers. 

"  My  dear,"  she  remarked,  with  the  blandness  of 
oil  on  green  wounds,  "  the  inventor  of  printing  is  re- 
sponsible for  more  lies  than  a  whole  generation  of 
women,  priests,  and  politicians,  and  that's  saying  a 
good  deal.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  "  smiling  interroga- 
tively at  Mrs.  Ogilvie. 

Towards  Ogilvie's  mother  she  bore  herself  with 
some  suspicion  of  patronage;  Ogilvie's  daughter  she 
watched  with  the  narrowness  of  an  interested  critic. 
She  was,  in  fact,  turning  Connie  over  in  her  own  mind 
as  a  sample  or  pattern  of  an  article  thrust  uncere- 
moniously on  her  attention,  to  wit,  young  American 
womanhood.  In  casual  meetings  abroad,  in  Paris,  on 
the  Riviera,  in  Rome,  on  the  Nile,  she  had  always  re- 
garded Americans  from  the  altitude  of  the  British  aris- 
tocrat, who  in  a  mixed  world  must  tolerate  inferiors. 
Quite  unexpectedly  her  interest  in  them  became  quick 
and  personal,  hence,  if  the  truth  must  be  told  concern- 
ing so  great  a  personage,  the  reason  for  her  present 
descent  upon  Dunveagle. 

Business  began  appropriately  with  ingenious 
scouting ;  then  she  veered  to  the  qualities  of  Americans 
as  mirrored  in  universal  opinion,  taking  care  to  pre- 
serve an  attitude  of  polite  neutrality.  Thereupon  came 
an  item  of  family  news. 

"  I  have  just  heard,"  she  told  them,  "  that  on 
Saturday  last  my  son  left  Southampton  for  New  York. 
It  seems,  my  dear  "  (Connie  being  the  "  dear  "),  "  he 
struck  up  a  friendship  with  your  young  friend,  Mr. 
Dunbar,  and  is  now  visiting  America  as  his  guest. 
Took  me  quite  by  surprise ;  boys,  my  dear  Mrs.  Ogil- 
vie, don't  always  take  pains  to  keep  their  mothers  well 
informed  of  what's  in  the  wind." 

387 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


"  I  thought,"  said  Connie,  "  Lord  Kinluig  had  re- 
turned to  duty." 

"  So  he  had,  my  dear,  but  where  there's  a  will  I 
suppose  there's  always  a  way.  You  know  how  they  do 
things  in  the  army.  Anyway  he's  on  the  Atlantic 
now." 

Connie  thought  of  another  officer  who  had  returned 
to  duty,  wondering  how  the  proverb  might  apply  to 
him. 

"  I  suppose,"  pursued  her  ladyship  sweetly,  "  the 
Dunbars  are  very  good  people.  Old  Mr.  Dunbar,  my 
son  mentioned,  died  somewhat  suddenly  and  tragic- 
ally. But  I  fancy  he  has  left  his  family  very  rich." 

Connie  promptly  confirmed  fancies  and  supposi- 
tions. 

"  Of  course,  I  met  young  Mr.  Dunbar  and  his  sis- 
ter," her  ladyship  added,  "  only  it  was  casually  and  in  a 
public  place,  as  you  will  remember,  my  dear  Miss 
Ogilvie.  Miss  Dunbar  seems — well,  may  I  say  a  typi- 
cal American  ?  " 

"  Kitty  is  just  one  of  the  best  girls  in  America," 
Connie  replied,  with  emphasis.  "  I  love  her." 

"  And  yet,"  rejoined  her  ladyship,  wagging  a  with- 
ered forefinger  at  Connie,  "  the  love  of  the  sister 
does  not,  I  hear — but  there,  there,  no  tales  out  of 
school.  I  have  been  hearing  whispers,  my  dear,  whis- 
pers of  a  certain  interesting  event  postponed,  shall 
I  say?" 

"  There  are  so  many  whispers  going  round  at  pres- 
ent, Lady  Ardvenmore,  that  one  can't  attend  to  them 
all,"  Connie  answered  quietly,  and  gave  the  conver- 
sation a  turn  which  marked  her  in  her  ladyship's 
mind  as  a  young  person  of  no  little  tact  and  discre- 
tion. 

When  the  visitor  left  with  some  gratifying  infor- 
388 


AMERICAN  WOMANHOOD 

mation,  Connie  remarked  to  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  "  What  did 
I  tell  you,  grannie?  We'll  have  our  good  Kitty  back 
as  Countess  of  Ardvenmore  yet.  The  old  lady  doesn't 
like  it  a  bit.  Well,  I'm  very  glad." 

The  topic  would  have  been  pursued  with  greater 
ardour  but  for  the  pressure  of  more  personal  events. 
A  moment,  perhaps,  Connie  contrasted  Kitty's  pros- 
pect with  her  own,  but  not  ignobly  nor  jealously,  for 
envy  or  uncharitableness  had  no  place  in  her  nature. 
Besides,  the  course  she  chose  in  a  certain  affair  was 
her  own,  and  if  it  involved  difficulties  which  might  be 
avoided  by  taking  another,  well,  she  stood  to  her 
choice.  What  she  could  least  endure  was  the  torture 
of  suspense. 

In  a  mood  of  nervous  anxiety  she  saw  the  old  year 
going  out  in  a  tempest.  It  was  meet,  she  told  herself, 
that  the  mellow  ruddiness  and  russet  of  autumn,  which 
had  supplanted  the  summer  greens  and  purples,  should 
in  turn  yield  to  the  rigours  of  winter.  Christmas  saw 
a  wan,  frightened  moon  riding  wildly  among  storm 
clouds ;  then  the  sky  contracted  darkly  like  a  gathered 
pall,  and  the  snow  came  with  spiteful  fluffs  and  flaws  of 
wind.  Two  days  it  snowed  with  scarce  a  break ;  on 
the  third  a  gale  swept  the  heights  bare,  filling  the  hol- 
lows with  drift,  piling  the  wreath  where  wreath  would 
hold,  with  riotous,  inimitable  art.  The  day  after 
Christmas  the  castle  was  inclosed  in  "  a  tumultuous 
privacy  "  of  blizzard.  The  two  women  looked  out  from 
time  to  time,  as  under  the  spell  of  the  storm,  upon  a 
driven,  whirling  world  of  grey,  and  perhaps  drew  back 
with  a  shiver,  thinking  it  too  truly  symbolic. 

"  A  real  Highland  snowstorm,"  Mrs.  Ogilvie  re- 
marked plaintively,  and  recounted  memories  of  the 
storms  of  her  youth  and  tales  of  lost  men,  till  Connie 
almost  fancied  she  heard  shrieks  of  despair  on  the 

389 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


wind.  A  maid  entering  on  these  reminiscences,  told 
that  a  groom  who  had  gone  to  Aberfourie  on  a  house- 
hold errand  had  difficulty  in  making  his  way  back, 
adding  as  an  incidental  piece  of  news  that  he  had  seen 
Captain  MacLean  and  the  laird  at  the  station. 


390 


CHAPTER   LIII 

TWO   MESSAGES 

LONG  after  midnight  the  blast  buffeted  turret  and 
window ;  but  though  Connie  lay  very  wide  awake  she 
heard  it  only  at  intervals,  and  not  always  when  it 
shrieked  loudest  or  wrestled  most  violently.  For  she 
was  mentally  absorbed  in  following  somebody  through 
the  snow,  in  guessing  reasons  for  his  sudden  return, 
and  in  wondering  what  would  ensue.  Was  he  to  an- 
swer her  letter  in  person,  or  had  he  been  called  back 
by  business  of  his  own  independently  of  her?  Was 
he  offended?  Would  he  come  to  see  her,  and  if 

To  none  of  these  questions,  tumbling  over  each 
other,  did  she  wait  to  find  a  coherent  answer.  It  is  the 
plague  of  the  imaginative  mind  that  while  it  keenly 
foretastes  felicity  it  also  conjures  up  all  manner  of  dark 
chances  in  a  crisis,  and  on  one  side  of  her  nature  at 
least  Connie  was  compact  of  imagination.  So  she 
dreamed  in  alternate  tremors  of  joy  and  fear,  hope  and 
despair. 

Next  morning  she  was  early  afoot.  The  storm  had 
died  in  the  dawn,  leaving  a  white  chaos,  from  which 
trees  and  rocks  stood  out  with  the  haggard  gauntness 
of  skeletons.  Looking  upward  from  her  window, 
Connie's  eye  instinctively  rested  on  Craigenard,  where 
black  dots  were  visible  moving  to  and  fro  in  the  snow. 

391 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


Taking  her  glass,  she  easily  made  out  Ian  and  Alick 
going  about  their  work,  and  once  she  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  laird ;  but  though  she  looked  long  and  intently, 
she  saw  none  else. 

At  breakfast  Mrs.  Ogilvie  spoke  of  the  fury  of 
the  storm,  and  hoped  Captain  MacLean  and  his  father 
got  home  safely.  "  It  would  be  a  fight,"  she  said,  "  to 
get  to  Craigenard  last  night.  Your  grandfather,  I  re- 
member well,  was  nearly  lost  on  just  such  a  night.  I 
wonder  what  brings  the  captain  back  again  so  soon 
after  rejoining  his  regiment." 

She  looked  to  her  granddaughter  as  for  enlighten- 
ment, but  a  crumb  going  awry  in  Connie's  throat 
brought  a  fit  of  coughing.  When  it  passed  her  face 
was  crimson.  "  Gone  the  wrong  way,  dear  ?  "  her 
grandmother  asked  simply. 

"  Absurd,"  answered  Connie,  with  a  little  laugh. 
"  Tell  me  about  grandfather,"  she  added,  ignoring  the 
reference  to  the  captain's  unexpected  return. 

The  arrival  of  the  post-bag  turned  their  thoughts 
to  other  things.  Though  desperately  impatient  for 
news,  the  two  women  had — unknown  to  each  other — 
grown  afraid  of  the  American  mail.  It  was  with  a  dis- 
tinct tremor  therefore  that  Connie  picked  up  a  letter 
addressed  in  her  father's  hand  and  another  in  Kitty's. 
Her  father's  was  read  first,  and  the  reading  made  her 
face  as  white  as  the  snow  outside.  For  an  instant  the 
world  reeled — as  wrecked  worlds  will — but  she  rallied 
herself,  compressed  her  lips  firmly,  and  read  again. 
The  message  was  tenderly  affectionate,  but  affection 
could  not  hide,  however  it  might  veil,  the  terrible  pur- 
port. Connie  was  to  make  arrangements,  as  quickly 
as  might  be,  for  returning  to  New  York ;  what  was  to 
follow  made  her  shudder  to  think  of. 

"  I  did  not  expect  when  I  left  to  have  to  write  to 
392 


Two  MESSAGES 


you  like  this,"  her  father  said.  "  But  one  advantage 
will  be  that  I  can  have  you  both  beside  me.  I  own 
myself  a  miser  in  one  respect,  and  think  I  can  do  best 
when  the  possessions  dearest  to  me  are  close  at  hand. 
I  have  the  best  hope  for  the  future,  but  at  present  I 
am  like  a  sick  man  who  cannot  get  well  without  an 
operation.  Let  us  have  the  operation  then,  and  be 
done  with  it.  This  decision,  as  you  will  believe,  my 
dearest  Con,  is  not  made  hastily.  I  live  now  for 
grannie  and  yourself.  I  am  to  blame  for  trusting  too 
much  to  others.  But  many  things  have  happened 
which  I  could  not  foresee,  and  some  on  which  in  any 
emergency  I  did  not  count.  They  show  how  little 
one  can  reckon  on  the  morrow  when  his  interests  are 
committed  to  other  hands.  Well,  we  must  take  the 
bitter  with  the  sweet.  I  do  not  repine,  and  I  am 
sure  neither  of  my  heroines  will.  Fortunately  there 
are  still  a  thousand  chances.  In  the  old  world  once 
a  man  is  down  he  hardly  ever  rises  again ;  in  the 
new  world  it  is  his  own  fault  if  he  does  not  regain  his 
feet.  I  am  at  least  making  an  honest  effort.  Don't 
lose  heart.  The  old  ship  will  ride  with  her  nose  to 
the  gale  yet ;  ay,  and  make  port." 

Tears  blinded  Connie,  but  she  passed  the  letter 
without  comment  to  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  who,  making  her 
own  inferences,  carried  it  off  to  her  own  room.  Taking 
up  Kitty's  letter,  Connie  tore  it  open  listlessly  and  be- 
gan to  read.  She  found  it  a  strange  contrast  to  her 
father's.  Miss  Dunbar  hardly  seemed  to  be  aware  of 
catastrophe.  There  was  indeed  a  passing  reference  to 
some  "  business  mess  "  which  she  did  not  pretend  to 
understand.  Then  came  a  light  remonstrance  with 
Connie  for  playing  so  long  with  the  affections  of  Jeff. 
But  the  gist  and  real  purpose  of  the  letter  lay  in  the 
final  part,  telling  that  Lord  Kinluig  had  really  ac- 
26  393 


A   SON   OF   GAD 


cepted  Jeff's  invitation,  and  that  already  the  society 
gossips  were  busy  with  tongue  and  pen,  "  though, 
dear,"  Kitty  asseverated,  "  they  have  nothing  in  the 
world  to  go  on  but  their  own  fertile  imaginations,  and 
the  bare  fact  that  Lord  Kinluig  is  to  spend  a  short 
holiday  with  us.  I  wish  you  were  here,  dear." 

Connie  rose,  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and  looked  from 
the  window  on  a  landscape  that  harmonised  but  too 
well  with  her  own  wintry  state.  As  she  gazed,  her  eyes 
by  some  charm  of  attraction  on  Craigenard,  she  per- 
ceived a  figure  moving  out  from  the  huddled  group  of 
buildings.  Her  heart  gave  a  bound.  Could  it  be  he? 
In  a  second  her  glass  was  levelled,  and  then  dropped 
with  a  gesture  of  disappointment.  It  was  only  Alick. 
But  even  Alick  was  a  speck  of  life  in  that  dead  scene, 
and  she  watched  indifferently.  When,  however,  he  de- 
flected from  the  road  into  the  path  leading  through  the 
woods  to  Dunveagle,  her  interest  leapt  up  again. 
Could  he  be  bringing  a  message  for  her?  She  kept 
her  eyes  on  him  till  he  disappeared  among  the  upper 
pines,  and  then  remembering  duty  ran  conscience- 
stricken  to  her  grandmother.  As  she  entered  Mrs. 
Ogilvie  lifted  a  drawn,  pallid  face.  "  It  has  come, 
dearie,"  she  said,  a  large  tear  trembling  on  her  lid. 

Unable  to  speak,  Connie  ran  forward  with  open 
arms,  and  for  a  minute  the  two  held  each  other  in  a 
tight,  speechless  embrace.  Connie  drew  off,  dashing 
the  tears  away,  and  accusing  herself  of  being  ridicu- 
lous. "  I'm  just  a  big  baby,  a  big  donkey,"  she  cried, 
and  disappeared  to  wash  the  stains  from  her  face. 

That  operation  was  scarcely  performed,  when  a 
note  was  handed  to  her  with  the  announcement  that 
the  messenger  was  waiting  for  an  answer. 

"  Send  him  to  me,"  she  said,  and  tore  the  envelope 
open  in  an  excruciating  excitement.  What  she  read 

394 


Two  MESSAGES 


was  brief  and  soldierly.  The  writer  had  returned  for  a 
little  on  private  business,  would  like  to  pay  his  respects 
at  Dunveagle,  and  as  time  was  short  asked  if  he  might 
call  that  afternoon. 

When  Alick  arrived  she  made  him  sit  down,  re- 
gardless of  a  trickle  of  melting  snow  on  the  carpet  to 
tell  her  about  his  descent  through  the  drifts,  about  the 
storm,  and  the  captain's  arrival. 

"  Him  and  the  laird  was  fairly  done  when  they  got 
home,"  he  told  her ;  "  they  lost  the  road,  and  it  was 
the  horse  that  found  it  for  them  again." 

She  regarded  him  for  a  moment  as  if  further  ques- 
tions were  on  her  tongue,  but  if  so  she  changed  her 
mind,  rang  the  bell,  and  sent  Alick  off  to  New  Year 
cheer  while  she  wrote  her  reply. 

The  smirking  messenger  despatched  homeward, 
she  gazed  after  him  till  he  disappeared  in  the  wood, 
waited  for  his  reappearance  above,  and  step  by  step 
accompanied  him  on  the  open  slope  beyond,  watching 
the  more  intently  the  smaller  he  grew.  When  at  last 
the  black  dot  vanished  from  the  ground  of  white,  she 
shook  in  an  ecstasy  of  excitement. 

"  He's  got  it,"  she  cried  within  herself ;  "  he's  got 
it,"  and  shut  her  eyes,  the  better  to  picture  the  scene 
within — the  captain  taking  the  letter — eagerly,  he 
must  take  it  eagerly — opening  it,  reading  it,  and — but 
she  durst  not  imagine  more. 

Then  for  a  while  she  devoted  herself  with  passion- 
ate assiduity  to  her  grandmother. 

In  her  practical  Scots  fashion  the  older  woman  had 
already  begun  to  prepare  for  the  departure,  sighing 
at  the  need,  but  with  no  thought  of  repining  or  turn- 
ing back.  Connie  could  not  so  easily  accept  the  idea 
of  surrender.  Her  mind  vacillated  electrically  be- 
tween a  despairing  gloom  and  a  dazzling  brightness, 

395 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


which  at  times  blended  and  interpenetrated  so  that  she 
hardly  knew  the  dream  from  the  reality.  To  the  dream 
she  clung  with  her  whole  soul;  the  reality  she  flung 
from  her  in  a  passion  of  revolt. 

It  was  Mrs.  Ogilvie's  custom  in  the  afternoon  to 
take  an  hour's  nap,  and  though  to-day  there  was  little 
chance  of  sleep,  she  lay  down  as  usual,  though  some- 
what later.  Left  to  herself,  a  torturing  restlessness  fell 
upon  Connie.  She  fought  against  it,  reminded  herself 
of  the  need  to  be  calm,  thought  pityingly  of  her  father 
striving  among  the  wreckage  in  New  York,  and  on  a 
filial  impulse  wrote  half  a  letter,  which  was  torn  up  as 
drivel.  A  book  was  opened  on  chance,  turned  over, 
and  thrown  aside  as  if  it  were  imprinted  dulness.  Then 
she  went  from  room  to  room  in  a  distressing  expect- 
ancy, seeking  something  that  was  not  to  be  found,  and 
finally  coming  on  a  fur-lined  mantle  and  a  sealskin 
cap,  reminiscences  of  sleighing  delights  in  New  York, 
she  hastily  put  them  on,  hardly  knowing  why,  and 
went  out. 

The  weather  was  still  and  crisp,  with  the  sparkle  of 
frost  in  the  air,  and  the  snow  glittering  rosily  in  the 
red  splendour  of  a  wintry  sun.  In  its  ethereal  moods 
winter  is  by  far  the  most  lightsome  of  the  seasons ;  and 
Connie  was  not  ten  minutes  out  when  it  had  communi- 
cated its  own  fine  buoyancy  to  her  senses.  After  a 
turn  or  two  in  the  castle  grounds  she  struck,  as  from 
sheer  rapture  of-  motion,  into  Dunveagle  woods,  the 
brisk  creaking  of  the  frosted  snow  under  foot  animat- 
ing the  spirits  like  music. 

In  the  hollows  the  shadows  were  already  deepening 
from  blue  to  black,  but  she  had  no  thought  of  night, 
so  exquisitely  this  magic  elixir  of  air  and  exercise 
acted  on  the  heart,  precipitated  every  morbid  particle 
in  the  blood.  Once  or  twice,  indeed,  it  occurred  to  her 

396 


Two  MESSAGES 


that  she  must  not  go  too  far,  nor  be  too  long  absent. 
Grannie  would  be  up  and  asking  for  her,  and  unable  to 
get  information  might  be  alarmed.  Besides,  there  was 
the  need  to  be  back  in  time  to  receive  visitors.  Yet 
under  the  stimulus  of  rarefied  air  and  rebounding  spir- 
its she  held  on,  sniffing  wintry  scents  of  pine  and  birch, 
admiring  the  curved  lines  of  the  snow  wreaths  and  the 
flush  that  warmed  the  frosted  mountains. 

In  this  elasticity  of  mind  and  body  she  reached  the 
elbow  or  crook  of  the  stream  where  one  summer  day, 
not  many  ages  ago,  as  she  lay  watching  the  sportive 
trout,  a  stranger  unwittingly  intruded.  She  remem- 
bered every  incident  of  that  day  as  if  it  had  occurred 
but  an  hour  before,  ay,  to  the  minutest  throb  of  her 
own  surprised  heart.  Drawing  near  she  peered  over  a 
gleaming  bank  of  snow  into  the  steely-cold  water.  The 
trout  were  still  there,  darting  with  the  twinkle  of  icicles. 

All  at  once  she  turned,  her  face  uplifted  at  the 
sound  of  crunching  feet.  Then  her  heart  stopped  as 
Captain  MacLean  came  swiftly  round  the  great  rock 
above.  The  air  seemed  to  tingle ;  her  head  was  spin- 
ning. Before  she  quite  knew  what  was  happening,  he 
held  her  by  the  hand. 


397 


CHAPTER   LIV 

THE   KING  AND   HIS   OWN 

AND  when  she  found  tongue,  what  did  she  catch 
herself  saying?  Not  words  of  conventional  greet- 
ing, not  even  of  surprise,  but  rather  of  radiant  glad- 
ness, as  of  one  who,  having  waited  long,  is  at  last 
happy. 

"  You  have  come,"  she  said,  a  thousand  speeches 
in  the  glow  of  her  eyes. 

"  I  was  coming,"  he  answered,  thinking  of  the  note 
that  lay  close  to  his  heart.  "  I  did  not  expect  this 
pleasure."  He  would  fain  have  asked,  "  Did  you  come 
to  meet  me  ?  "  but  on  that  presumption  his  lips  shut 
fast. 

A  thrilling  silence  followed.  Connie  turned  to  the 
snowy  heights,  remarking  their  grandeur ;  but  had  she 
spoken  as  she  felt,  her  cry  would  have  been  that  of  the 
intoxicated  singer — 

"  Are  the  hills  and  the  lawns  where  we  roam  unsteady  ? 
Or  is  it  my  brain  that  reels  away  ?  " 

She  hardly  saw  the  magnificence  she  extolled.  She 
was  not  thinking  of  snowy  heights,  nor  was  he. 

It  was  the  moment  when  the  wintry  Highland  sun, 
going  down  in  fiery  splendour,  tinges  the  cold  virgin 
white  with  a  ruddy  warmth,  making  the  diamonds  of 
the  snow  crystals  flash,  and  the  spectral  trees  gleam 

398 


THE  KING  AND   His   OWN 

with  reflected  fire.    The  radiance  streaming  between 
two  silver  peaks  suffused  her  with  new  beauty. 

"  It  is  very  .different  from  what  it  was  when  we 
met  here  before,"  he  responded,  trying  to  keep  the 
tumult  out  of  his  voice. 

"  Do  you  remember  it  ?  "  she  asked,  with  an  eager 
smile.  "  Ah  it  was  summer  then ;  now  it  is  winter, 
winter,"  she  repeated,  turning  to  go,  "  when  everything 
is  cold  and  bare." 

For  a  minute  he  walked  silently  beside  her  in  a 
fever  of  concern  and  pity. 

"  Miss  Ogilvie,"  he  blurted  out  suddenly,  "  will 
you  pardon  me  for  speaking  plainly  on  a  matter  on 
which  I  feel  strongly?  We  soldiers  have  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  blunt,  and  assuredly  some  of  us  at  least 
cannot  shape  our  tongues  to  fine  phrases." 

She  gasped  as  if  something  plucked  at  her  heart, 
feeling  as  though  she  must  swoon;  yet  by  some  mi- 
raculous power  she  kept  a  fair  semblance  of  self-con- 
trol. 

"  Yes,  Captain  MacLean,"  she  answered  simply. 

"  If  I  blunder  you  will  understand  ?  "  he  said. 

With  eyes  on  the  ground,  she  promised  to  try,  and 
he  went  on — 

"  Well,  then,  let  me  begin  by  saying  that  I  have 
read  something  of  what  has  appeared  in  the  papers." 

She  lifted  her  head  quickly. 

"  The  papers  have  been  saying  cruel  things,"  she 
said,  flushing. 

"  And  untrue,"  he  added.    "  I  don't  believe  them." 

She  walked  a  little  in  silence,  then  said  in  a  low  but 
vibrating  voice — 

"  You  are  very  good.  Some  not  only  believe  the 
reports,  but  add  to  them." 

"  Cowards,"  he  returned  so  fiercely  that  she  start- 
399 


A   SON   OF   GAD 


ed.  "  You  will  always  find  cowards.  They  are  weeds 
that  flourish  in  every  soil.  But  in  this  instance  they 
will  get  the  lie  yet." 

He  saw  her  quiver  as  in  pain,  and  was  rating  him- 
self for  a  crass  blunderer  when  she  cried  out  in  an 
abandon  of  anguish,  "  Oh,  Captain  MacLean,  it  is 
true ;  it  is  true ! "  and  fluttered  away  like  a  wounded 
bird.  Norman  stood  inert,  gazing  after  her,  a  strange 
mist  in  his  eyes.  What  was  he  to  do  ?  He  had  made 
terms  with  an  enemy,  stood  by  a  friend  in  a  pinch; 
but  this  was  outside  his  experience,  and  threw  him 
off  his  balance.  Connie  discovered  that  he  did  not 
immediately  follow,  and  with  a  fallen  heart  told  herself, 
"  He  also  is  deserting  me."  But  the  next  minute  he 
was  by  her  side,  very  pale  and,  as  she  rather  felt  than 
saw,  cruelly  agitated  under  his  soldier's  reserve.  She 
could  have  cried  out  to  be  forgiven  for  the  wrong  she 
had  done  him. 

"  You  tell  me,  Miss  Ogilvie,  it  is  true  ?  " 

The  words  came  from  a  dry,  stifled  throat. 

"Yes,"  she  replied;  and  then  desperately,  "But, 
Captain  MacLean,  let  us  talk  of  something  else  for  the 
little  while  we  are  together.  I  must  not  worry  you 
with  my  troubles." 

The  response  was  as  a  shock  of  electricity. 

"  Then  I  may  turn  and  go  back,"  he  said  in  acute 
disappointment,  and  pulled  up  as  if  suiting  the  actioa 
to  the  word. 

Her  heart  was  in  a  riot;  her  foot  unconsciously 
kicked  the  frozen  snow. 

"  No,"  she  pleaded ;  "  please  don't  do  that." 

"  Miss  Ogilvie,"  he  rejoined  in  a  choked  voice,  "  I 
have  already  told  you — perhaps  it  wasn't  necessary — 
that  I  am  a  man  of  clumsy  words.  May  I  speak  in  my 
own  way  ?  " 

400 


THE  KINO  AND  His  OWN 

"  Speak,"  she  answered  feebly,  while  kicking  the 
snow  more  vigorously. 

"  Thank  you.  Well,  I'll  be  brief  and  spare  you 
pain.  When  I  read  those  reports  my  blood  boiled.  I 
could  not  sleep  or  attend  to  my  duties,  and  I  came 
back  on  special  leave  to  hear  from  yourself  they  were 
false." 

"  It  is  good  and  noble  of  you,"  she  replied,  keeping 
down  a  sob.  "  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  they  are  false, 
but  I  cannot.  They  are  true,  and  they  mean  more  than 
any  one  here  imagines.  You  may  soon  be  back  in 
Dunveagle  if  you  like." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  demanded,  amazement 
giving  his  tone  a  touch  of  brusqueness. 

"  I  mean,"  she  answered,  her  face  wrung  with  mis- 
ery, "  that  we  must  leave  it.  You  are  the  first  outside 
of  ourselves  who  knows." 

She  durst  not  look  at  him ;  but  she  could  hear  that 
he  was  breathing  very  hard. 

"  Miss  Ogilvie,"  he  returned,  with  the  emphasis  of 
his  whole  being,  "  you  must  not,  you  shall  not  leave 
Dunveagle." 

It  seemed  to  Connie  that  fireflies  all  at  once  began 
to  dance  in  the  falling  dusk. 

"  Ah,  but  we  must  leave  it,  Captain  MacLean,"  she 
said,  her  heart-break  in  her  voice.  "  We  are  preparing 
even  now." 

"  You  must  not,"  he  retorted  almost  angrily. 
"  Until  I  met  you  I  was  a  poor  man — poor  in  a  worldly 
and  in  every  other  sense.  Since  then  I  have  in  every 
sense  grown  rich.  Will  you  not  permit  me  to  help 
you?" 

She  swayed  as  if  falling,  and  instinctively  he  put 
forth  a  hand  to  support  her.  He  was  startled  to  find 
her  quaking  as  in  an  ague. 

401 


A   SON  OF  GAD 


"  You  are  ill,"  he  cried  in  alarm.  "  I  have  vexed 
you.  I  should  not  have  spoken  as  I  did — but,  dear 
Miss  Ogilvie,  it  was  my  reason  for  coming  back,  and 
I  couldn't  keep  it  to  myself." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  she  murmured,  and  he 
fancied  her  gloved  hand  pressed  his  own. 

"  No,"  he  corrected,  "  the  goodness  is  all  on  the 
other  side.  You  know  a  little  of  Mr.  Ogilvie's  kind- 
ness to  me.  What  he  did  was  a  miracle  of  generosity, 
and  I  cannot  stand  by  if  any  little  aid  of  mine  can  be 
of  use.  I  met  him  as  the  enemy  of  my  house ;  at  any 
rate,  as  the  usurper  of  my  place  and  inheritance. 
There  was  a  deep  prejudice,  but  he  and  you  overcame 
it.  Nay,  more ;  through  him  there  came  to  me  what  I 
never  had  before — money,  money  in  abundance.  It  is 
every  penny  at  his,  at  your  service  if  you  will  ac- 
cept it." 

"  But,  Captain  MacLean,"  she  answered  in  pal- 
pitating admiration  and  gratitude,  "  we  cannot  dream 
of  that.  I  cannot  consent  to  your  risking  money  for 
us.  Get  back  with  it  the  birthright  that  was  taken 
from  you.  As  for  us,  we'll  soon  be  in  another  world. 
Our  little  sojourn  here  will  be  as  a  passing  dream,  to 
think  over  in  quiet  moments,  if  such  should  come. 
Some  day,  perhaps,  we  may  revisit  old  scenes  to  find 
you  where  you  ought  to  be,  where  you  deserve  to  be. 
If  my  father  were  here  he  would  tell  you  what  I  can- 
not. But,  dear  Captain  MacLean,  take  my  ill-ex- 
pressed gratitude ;  it  is  poor,  but  it  could  not  well  be 
more  hearty  or  genuine." 

Ending  with  a  rush,  she  insensibly  laid  a  hand  on 
his  arm,  and  the  touch  was  as  fire. 

"  It  is  unkind  of  you  to  be  ironical,"  he  replied,  the 
muscles  of  his  throat  tightening  as  at  the  twist  of  a 
screw. 

402 


THE  KING   AND  His  OWN 

"  Ironical !  "  she  repeated.  "  God  knows  I  had  no 
thought  of  irony.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  feel  how 
grateful  I  am,  Captain  MacLean." 

"  I  don't  want  gratitude,"  he  cried.  "  I  want " — 
the  words  were  almost  out  before  he  could  check  him- 
self. 

"What?"  she  asked,  drawing  in  her  breath 
sharply. 

A  dizzying  thrill  passed  through  Norman.  Dare  he 
take  the  plunge,  and  put  hopes  and  happiness  to  the 
hazard?  Not  now,  not  now.  He  could  not,  would 
not  act  like  a  money-lender  making  terms ;  and  yet  she 
stood  on  tip-toe  for  the  answer. 

"  Suppose  what  you  suggest  were  possible,"  he 
said,  whipping  out  of  the  central  current  to  collect  his 
thoughts. 

The  reply  was  swift  and  decisive. 

"  Then  the  King  would  have  his  own  again." 

It  was  his  turn  to  find  the  air  full  of  fireflies. 

"  You  mock  me,"  he  cried ;  "  you  mock  me." 

"  If  I  do  may  a  good,  generous,  brave  man  never 
waste  another  thought  on  me.  Why  do  you  say  or 
imagine  that  ?  " 

She  drew  a  little  closer  to  him;  he  could  almost 
feel  her  warm  breath,  but  the  dusk  prevented  him  from 
seeing  her  face. 

"  Because  " — he  felt  himself  reeling  like  a  drunken 
man.  "  Because,  oh !  "  he  ended  on  a  note  of  tragic 
disappointment  "  I  have  no  right  to  speak,  no  right 
whatever." 

"  If  you  don't  speak  I'll  complain  you  are  unkind 
to  me,"  was  the  response  made  with  a  coolness  that 
surprised  herself. 

"  Then,"  he  cried,  like  a  man  making  a  burst  for 
life,  "  you  must  not,  you  cannot  leave  Dunveagle. 

403 


A  SON   OF   GAD 


Will  you  bear  with  me  if  I  tell  you  something?  If  I 
am  rude,  if  I  take  a  liberty,  turn  about  and  leave 
me." 

She  neither  spoke  nor  moved,  and  he  went  on 
headlong. 

"  I  told  you  I  came  back  to  hear  from  yourself  that 
the  newspaper  reports  were  false  or  exaggerated ;  that 
is  true,  and  yet " — he  almost  choked  on  the  confession 
— "  it  is  not  the  whole  truth.  I  began  to  draw  pictures 
in  my  own  mind.  You  were  always  the  central  figure, 
and  you  were  always  at  Dunveagle.  I  could  not  sep- 
arate you  from  Dunveagle.  I  thought  that,  that  in 
case  of  the  worst  in  New  York — I  thought  of  the  pos- 
sibility you  have  suggested,  and  you  were  still  at  Dun- 
veagle. And  it  was  your  own,  all  your  very  own  to  do 
with  as  you  liked." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  she  said  in  a  tone  which  the 
fates  decreed  he  should  misinterpret.  Her  bosom  was 
dancing ;  her  face  snow-white ;  but  how  could  he  know 
that? 

"  Then  my  picture  is  demolished,"  he  replied  in  an 
accent  of  despair.  "  But  since  I  began,  Miss  Ogilvie, 
let  me  end.  I  was  sorry  all  this  had  come  upon 
you." 

"  You  need  not  tell  me.  I  am  sure  of  that,"  she 
replied,  smothering  a  flame-like  emotion. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued  impetuously.  "  But  I  have 
something  else  to  tell  you.  I  said  I  was  sorry.  That's 
true,  and  yet,  God  forgive  me,  I  was  glad  also." 

"  Of  getting  back,"  she  said,  holding  her  breath. 

"  No,  no,  Miss  Ogilvie,  not  that,"  he  cried,  his 
tongue  and  throat  parched.  "  At  any  rate  I  was  not 
thinking  of  myself,  and  yet  it  was  for  myself  I  was 
planning.  Only  you  were  in  the  plan.  All  depended 
on  you." 

404 


THE  KING  AND  His  OWN 

In  the  gathering  darkness  her  hand  sought  his ;  he 
gripped  it  like  a  vice,  and  for  a  little  there  was  no 
sound  but  the  purling  of  the  burn  under  its  snow  banks 
and  the  hot  beating  of  two  hearts. 

"  Is  my  dream  too  wild  ?  "  he  asked,  his  whole  pas- 
sionate being  in  the  question. 

He  felt  her  quivering  as  she  answered  softly — 

"  Your  goodness  prompts  you  to  too  much.  You 
forget  all  that  these  changes  mean.  You  ought  to  be 
at  Dunveagle ;  but  my  place  is  elsewhere." 

In  crises  of  human  affairs  cross  currents,  half  un- 
derstandings, wrong  constructions  are  the  very  tools 
of  mischief.  Too  much  boldness,  too  little  boldness,  a 
hair's  breadth  this  way  or  that,  a  strained  inflection,  the 
misinterpretation  of  a  word,  a  look,  a  tone,  a  gesture, 
and  two  souls  drawing  together  are  off  at  a  tangent 
that  may  end  in  separation  wide  as  the  poles.  While 
she  was  thinking  how  generous,  how  noble  he  was, 
and  telling  herself  that  love  could  not  permit  the  sac- 
rifice he  proposed,  he  thought  she  was  merely  parry- 
ing to  keep  him  at  arm's  length  till  he  should  grow 
weary  or  disgusted  and  desist. 

"  Then  mine  is  elsewhere  too,"  he  returned, 
like  one  incurably  hurt.  "  I  am  very  properly  pun- 
ished." 

An  exquisite  pain  and  terror  seized  her.  How  was 
she  to  put  him  right  while,  at  the  same  time,  keeping 
herself  right  ?  He  had  come  back  to  her  once,  drawn 
by  what  mystic  cord  she  could  guess.  But  a  subtle 
feminine  intelligence  told  her  that  if  he  left  her  now 
he  would  never  return,  never,  never.  It  was  as  if  for 
one  fiery,  dazing  instant  she  held  the  choice  of  happi- 
ness or  misery  for  eternity,  and,  by  a  fateful  spell,  was 
prevented  from  deciding.  Fed  by  imagination,  her 
fears  became  a  dizzying  panic.  Already  he  appeared 

405 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


to  be  slipping  from  her,  fading  into  the  darkness  of 
night;  and  the  passion  of  her  heart  was  a  throttling 
agony. 

Without  knowing  it  she  withdrew  her  hand  from 
his,  and  he  took  that  act  of  unconsciousness  as  another 
measure  in  the  process  of  disillusionment  and  dismis- 
sal. She  blamed  him  for  not  understanding ;  he  con- 
demned himself  for  presumption ;  and  soldier-like  shut 
his  lips  to  take  his  punishment  in  silence.  Honour, 
chivalry,  delicacy,  every  sentiment  that  holds  woman 
in  reverence,  that  makes  a  man  the  son  of  his  mother, 
the  brother  of  his  sister,  the  lover  of  his  wife,  forbade 
him  to  speak  more,  except  to  offer  apologies  for  vex- 
ing her.  He  had  done  what  he  ought  not  to  have  done. 
He  had  been  mistaken :  for  a  moment  had  perhaps 
forgotten  himself.  He  craved  her  pardon.  Would 
she  forget  and  forgive? 

Was  he  bent  on  driving  her  mad,  or  merely  on 
pushing  maiden  reserve  to  extremity  ? 

"  You  are  wrong,  quite  wrong,"  she  cried,  her  voice 
breaking  on  a  sob. 

Something  in  the  tone  rather  than  in  the  words 
illumined,  as  by  a  lightning  flash,  the  darkness  of  his 
mind.  Like  a  drifting  sailor  rescued  on  a  pitchy  night, 
he  came  swiftly  back  to  light  on  a  tide  that  mingled  its 
spray  with  the  very  stars.  He  saw  the  figure  by  his 
side  sway  and  bend  towards  him.  His  arms  opened 
and  she  melted  into  them,  shaking  in  the  throes  of 
her  great  fear,  her  sudden  bliss.  In  a  blind  ecstasy 
of  endearment  he  comforted  her.  The  sweetest  words 
she  had  ever  heard  sounded  in  her  ears,  and  she  lifted 
her  face  to  his. 

Stars  came  out  thick  and  fast  in  the  frosty  sky,  and 
the  low  moon  peered  at  them  through  a  silvery  gap, 
chastely  as  in  her  first  peep  at  Endymion ;  but  except 

406 


THE  KING  AND  His   OWN 

as  lamps  by  which  to  see  each  other's  happiness  they 
thought  of  neither  moon  nor  stars. 

When  the  captain  was  leaving  the  castle  some 
hours  later,  Connie  saw  him  alone  to  the  door. 

"  Do  you  know  what  day  it  will  be  to-morrow  ?  " 
she  asked,  and  as  he  did  not  immediately  reply,  being 
deeply  engaged  in  studying  her  face,  she  laughed. 
"  Of  course  you  don't ;  men  never  do  remember  the 
right  thing.  It's  the  New  Year.  And,  sweetheart, 
that's  for  luck." 

But  when  with  a  like  rite  he  would  have  recipro- 
cated her  good  wishes,  she  drew  back,  a  gleaming  fore- 
finger raised  in  protest. 

"  To-morrow,"  she  said.    "  To-morrow — perhaps." 


407, 


CHAPTER   LV 

HANDS   ACROSS   THE   SEA 

THE  frost  relaxed,  and  the  earth  came  out  in  spots, 
as  if  the  landscape  had  contracted  a  virulent  eruptive 
disease,  then  was  gently  hidden  again  under  a  stainless 
white  that  fell  without  tremor  or  breath  of  wind,  so 
that  tree  and  eave  glistered  as  with  gems  and  filigree 
of  chased  silver.  A  little  while,  and  many  waters  lifted 
up  their  voices  and  sang  together.  Sudden  thaws  and 
freshets  made  the  burns  boil,  and  the  turbid  rivers 
scoop  their  banks  furiously,  and  even  overflow  like  old 
Nile.  The  Veagle  came  down  grandly  in  brown  cata- 
racts that  filled  the  air  with  the  low  music  of  thunder. 
Bogs  and  fields  gleamed  bleakly,  as  if  only  recovering 
from  the  flood,  and  every  furrow  in  the  hillsides  was 
a  leaping  brook. 

Then  day  by  day  the  sun  stayed  longer  and  grew 
more  genial.  Fresh  scents  were  in  the  air.  The  earth, 
putting  off  desolation  and  drowsiness,  was  weaving 
herself  the  garments  of  a  new  life.  Saps  were  moving 
resistlessly  in  the  woodlands,  primroses  gleamed  in 
protected  nooks,  and  the  young  grass  of  the  valleys 
tempted  sheep  from  insucculent  heights  above. 

In  this  rejuvenating  tide  of  spring  Mr.  Ogilvie  re- 
turned for  a  little  to  Dunveagle.  He  had  pressed 
Connie  to  go  to  him  in  New  York,  but  she  made  puz- 
zling excuses,  and  finally  begged  him  to  come  home. 

408 


HANDS  ACROSS  THE  SEA 

He  noted  the  word  "  home,"  and  read  in  it  large, 
new  meanings. 

Perhaps  he  was  not  struck  with  amazement  when 
she  confided  her  great  secret,  nor  was  he  displeased, 
only  a  little  sad  in  losing  one  about  whom  the  tendrils 
of  his  heart  entwined  with  uncommon  fondness. 

"  Ah,  Con,  Con !  "  he  said.  "  Unkind  Con,  want- 
ing to  forsake  your  poor  old  father." 

"  Papa,  you're  not  sorry  ?  "  she  cried,  looking  into 
his  eyes  with  a  pretty  dismay. 

"  I  can  never  be  sorry,  dear,  over  anything  that 
makes  you  happy,"  was  the  answer.  "  Only,  you  see, 
I'm  surrendering  my  own  sweetheart  to  another,  and 
that's  a  good  deal  to  ask  of  one." 

She  closed  his  mouth  with  a  kiss,  and  setting  herself 
on  his  knee,  accused  him  of  not  telling  her  what  he 
thought  of  Norman.  What  she  hungered  for  was 
praise,  not  of  herself,  but  of  him. 

"  As  you  know,  I  always  thought  well  of  him,"  her 
father  replied.  "  And  I  don't  think  less  of  him  now 
when  you  have  honoured  him." 

"  He  deserves  far  more  honour  than  mine,"  she  re- 
joined, toying  with  a  button. 

"  Stick  to  that,  darling,  and  God  bless  you,"  was 
the  response.  "  May  he  always  be  so  to  you,  so  that 
whatever  comes — and  there  are  more  twists  and  turn- 
ings in  life  than  my  little  Con  dreams  of — you  may 
cling  to  him  secure  in  your  trust.  So  long  as  a  woman 
adores  the  man  of  her  choice  she  cannot  be  unhappy. 
When  she  ceases  to  adore  him,  I  believe  nothing  in  this 
world  will  be  compensation  for  that  falling  away." 

"  I  am  sure,"  she  declared,  tears  of  joy  and  pride  in 
her  eyes,  "  any  woman  would  adore  Norman,  and  be 
glad  in  his  courage  and  noble  in  his  nobility." 

"  He  is  lucky  who  has  such  a  champion,"  her  father 
27  409 


A  SON  OF  GAD 


said  quietly.  "  Well,  I  wish  my  little  sweetheart,  the 
sweetheart  who  has  grown  up  beside  me,  many  good 
things,  but  I  can  wish  her  nothing  in  this  world  half 
so  good  as  a  husband  of  whom  she  can  continue  to 
use  the  words  she  has  used  now.  It  will  be  better  for 
her  than  heaps  of  gold  and  troops  of  servants.  By  the 
way,"  he  broke  off,  "  Jeff  Dunbar  did  not  seem  too 
happy  when  we  parted  in  New  York." 

"  Poor  Jeff !  "  Connie  returned  wistfully.  "  I  like 
him;  I  like  him  very  much.  But  I  always  felt  we  were 
not  meant  for  each  other.  Now  I  know." 

"  You  are  sure  of  your  choice,  then  ?  " 

"  Grannie  has  often  told  me  about  mother  and  you ; 
and  I  am  as  sure  as  she  was." 

She  nestled  closer,  and  he  kissed  her,  stroking  the 
fair  hair  till  it  was  all  disordered. 

"  I  was  very  happy  then,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"  and  I  daresay  Norman  is  very  happy  now." 

For  answer  she  snuggled  yet  closer,  and  put  a  tight 
right  arm  about  his  neck.  In  this  affectionate  attitude 
Mrs.  Ogilvie  found  them. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  she  cried,  feigning  lightness, 
"  you  two  carry  on  like  lovers." 

"  So  we  are,  grannie  dear,"  replied  Connie,  lifting 
her  head  and  smiling ;  "  very  fond  lovers." 

"  That's  good,  dearie,"  Mrs.  Ogilvie  said  in  a 
changed  tone.  "  I've  had  three  lovers  in  my  day, 
and " 

"  Oh,  you  naughty,  naughty  old  woman !  "  Connie 
cried,  springing  up.  "  Who  were  they  ?  Come,  you 
must  tell." 

"  If  I  must,  I  must.  Well,  the  first  was  my  father — 
a  girl  should  always  be  head  and  ears  in  love  with  her 
father;  the  second  was  my  husband;  the  third  is  my 
son.  A  woman  with  three  such  lovers  has  her  fill  of 

410 


HANDS   ACROSS  THE  SEA 

happiness ;  and  I  can  wish  you,  dearie,  nothing  better 
in  this  life." 

Connie  put  out  a  hand  to  each  and  drew  them  to- 
gether, herself  standing  half  between. 

"  We'll  share  your  last  lover,  grannie,"  she  said, 
with  a  solemn  joy  and  pride.  "  He's  not  all  yours,  nor 
all  mine.  He  belongs  to  us  both." 

As  she  spoke  a  ray  of  sunshine  fell  on  them  thus 
grouped,  and  Connie  took  it  as  a  good  omen. 

Norman  paid  a  flying  visit  to  see  Mr.  Ogilvie  and 
arrange  matters,  the  mere  thought  of  which  strung 
Connie's  nerves  to  the  cracking  point.  He  had  his 
own  plans,  which  he  pushed  to  an  issue  with  the  intre- 
pidity of  a  soldier.  But  on  one  point  at  least  Mr.  Ogil- 
vie was  equally  determined,  the  ardour  on  each  side 
(contrary  to  rule)  being  on  behalf  of  the  other. 

In  America  Mr.  Ogilvie's  strong  head  and  hand 
were  beginning  to  bring  order  once  more  out  of  chaos. 
It  had  been  suggested  to  him  that  he  should  compound 
in  the  customary  way,  and  thus  at  a  stroke  wipe  out 
half  his  debt ;  but  he  resolutely  shook  his  head. 

"  A  whole  conscience,  if  possible,"  he  said,  "  and 
after  that  a  sop  to  pride.  If  Heaven  gives  me  health, 
and  my  creditors  a  little  time,  every  man,  I  think,  will 
have  his  own." 

Many  called  him  Quixotic,  but  all  admired,  for  we 
like  in  others  the  sacrifices  for  which  we  have  not  heart 
ourselves.  A  shrewd  few,  however,  remarked  that  he 
was  right  as  usual,  that  he  was  pursuing  the  best,  if  the 
hardest  policy,  and  would  yet  recover  everything. 

"  Give  me,"  said  a  veteran,  "  the  man  who  builds 
on  character.  That's  what  tells  in  the  end.  Ogilvie's 
down  to-day,  but  he's  the  sort  of  man  who'll  be  up  to- 
morrow ;  and  in  the  meantime  his  word's  good  enough 
for  me." 

411 


A   SON   OF  GAD 


Now  in  prosperity  a  certain  sum  was  settled  on 
Connie  and  invested  in  gilt-edge  in  her  own  name. 
When  the  crash  came,  she  hastened  to  place  it  unre- 
servedly in  her  father's  hand.  Half  a  second  he  hesi- 
tated under  the  dire  pressure  of  circumstance ;  then, 
as  we  know,  returned  an  emphatic  negative.  What 
was  hers  should  remain  hers.  No  man  could  say  it 
had  not  been  legitimately  given,  and  come  what  might 
it  was  not  to  be  taken  back.  Besides,  in  that  mighty 
vortex  in  New  York  it  would  be  but  a  drop  to  the 
ocean. 

In  the  swing  of  events  that  refusal  suggested 
to  Connie  other  plans  supplementary  to  Norman's. 
There  was  a  pretty  fight  in  which  all  three  engaged 
warmly,  but  for  once  she  held  invincibly  to  her  pur- 
pose. 

"  All  the  men  and  arguments  in  Christendom  won't 
make  me  alter  my  mind,"  she  told  Norman,  laughing 
fondly  in  his  face.  "  So  papa  and  you  may  just  as  well 
give  in  and  agree  gracefully.  It  isn't  much  to  give  a 
woman  her  own  way  once  in  a  while." 

"  I  didn't  mean  it  to  be  at  all  as  you  propose,"  Nor- 
man responded,  as  if  deprived  of  keenly  anticipated 
pleasure.  "  You  upset  all  my  plans." 

"  And  must  you  have  your  way  in  everything  ?  " 
she  asked,  putting  her  face  close  to  his.  "  Mind,  it's  a 
bad,  bad  beginning  to  be  selfish." 

Norman  appealed  to  Mr.  Ogilvie,  and  was  an- 
swered that  she  was  now  her  own  mistress.  There- 
upon the  laird  was  taken  into  counsel,  but  he  was  in 
too  great  a  maze  over  the  doings  of  Providence  to 
have  any  judgment  left.  He  admitted,  however,  he 
was  disposed  to  side  with  his  son,  and  was  treated  as 
cavalierly  as  were  the  others. 

So  when  the  inevitable  came,  those  social  car- 
412 


HANDS  ACROSS  THE  SEA 

penters  and  joiners,  the  solicitors,  were  called  in  to 
fashion  new  covenants  according  to  law.  One  day  a 
telegram  flashed  northward  to  Aberfourie,  passed 
thence  post-haste  to  Craigenard,  and  bowled  the  laird 
over  in  the  midst  of  a  domestic  conversation  with 
Janet.  It  contained  but  two  words ;  yet  as  Janet  told 
Maggie,  if  the  old  earth  had  stood  on  its  head  and 
whisked  an  impudent  tail  in  the  sun's  face  the  laird 
could  not  have  been  more  dumfounded.  The  per- 
tinent part  of  the  tale  ran  thus: — 

'  Janet  woman,'  says  he,  so  white  and  trembly  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  fall,  though  when  I  looked 
again  and  saw  the  light  in  his  eye  I  knew  it  was  no 
falling  matter.  '  Janet,'  says  he,  in  the  blessed  Gaelic 
speech,  just  as  I  am  talking  to  you,  '  you'd  hardly  be- 
lieve the  queer  things  that  are  happening.'  '  Deed  no, 
sir,'  says  I,  '  whiles  my  head's  nearly  turned  with  what 
is  happening.'  '  Well,  Janet,'  he  says,  '  I  have  a  bit  of 
news  for  you  that'll  turn  it  altogether.  Brace  up,  for 
you'll  need  all  your  strength,  for  this  is  the  queerest 
thing  that's  happened  in  my  time.  Dunveagle  is  ours 
again.'  '  God's  sake,  sir,'  I  cried,  my  heart  just  jump- 
ing in  my  mouth  with  fear  and  gladness,  '  do  not  be 
making  a  fool  of  me.  I  was  thinking  the  other  day  of 
lying  down  quietly  to  die  where  I  am.'  '  It's  a  small 
privilege,  that,  Janet,'  says  he.  You  know  his  way. 
'  You  can  die  here  or  elsewhere,  as  you  like.  But  I'm 
not  making  a  fool  of  you.  Norman's  got  it.'  And  with 
that  I  had  just  to  sit  down  and  greet,  and  you'd  greet 
too,  Maggie,  in  my  place.  Well,  I  looked  up  half 
blind,  and  as  sure's  death  the  laird's  eyes  were  running 
nearly  as  bad  as  mine.  '  Ay,'  he  said  again,  as  if  he 
was  half  speaking  to  himself  to  make  sure  of  the  thing, 
'  he's  got  it.  Norman's  got  it.'  And  at  that,  Maggie, 
I  just  up  and  gripped  his  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  it  was 

413 


A   SON   OF  GAD 


as  shaky  as  my  own.  But  he'd  make  it  all  a  joke  by 
his  way  of  it.  '  Tut,  tut,  Janet,  what's  this  ? '  he  said. 
'  What  the  devil's  come  over  you  ?  '  says  he.  '  If  they 
catch  us  like  this  there'll  be  a  fine  splore,  and,  Janet, 
woman,  we're  too  old  for  a  scandal.'  Did  you  ever 
hear  the  like  of  him  ?  Well,  who  should  come  walking 
in  with  that  but  Ian  Veg  himself.  '  Ian,'  cries  the  laird, 
putting  a  handkerchief  to  his  eyes  as  if  he'd  been 
coughing  badly,  '  this  wife  of  yours  is  gone  gyte,  mak- 
ing love  to  an  old  runt  like  me.  You'll  better  take  her 
away.'  Ian  turned  on  me,  not  knowing  what  to  say  or 
think,  but  just  glowering.  '  There,  what  did  I  tell  you, 
Janet  ? '  says  the  laird,  laughing  to  ease  himself. 
'  We're  caught,  and  there's  no  jealousy  like  an  old 
man's  jealousy.'  Then  he  looked  queer-like  at  Ian, 
'  If  ye'll  not  make  a  Court  of  Session  case  of  it,  Ian,' 
says  he,  '  I'll  tell  ye  something,'  and  he  told  him  what 
was  come  to  pass.  Ian  just  gaped,  for  he  couldn't 
speak,  and  didn't  like  very  well  to  greet  before  folk. 
'  If  it  was  the  summer  time,  Ian,'  says  the  laird,  '  ye'd 
be  having  a  fine  feed  of  flies.  Why,  man,  you  needn't 
stare  so  much,  and  what  in  the  world's  the  matter  with 
your  jaw  ? ' 

"'Is  it  true,  sir?'  Ian  asked,  coming  to  him- 
self. 

"  '  There's  the  telegram,  Ian,'  says  the  laird ;  '  read 
for  yourself.'  Ian  read,  and  then  just  gave  one  hooch 
that  made  me  jump. 

" '  It  has  come,  sir,'  he  said,  looking  as  if  he  was 
beside  himself.  '  I  knew  it  would  come.' 

" '  And  how  did  you  know  it  would  come  ? '  the 
laird  asked ;  but  Ian  only  kept  on  saying  over  and  over 
again,  '  I  knew  it  would  come.' 

"  '  Pick  it  out  of  him,  Janet,'  says  the  laird  to  me. 
'  I'm  sure  you've  got  many  a  secret  out  of  him  in  your 

414 


HANDS  ACROSS  THE  SEA 

time/  and  that's  quite  true,  Maggie,  but  I  couldn't 
manage  it  that  time." 

Thus,  Janet.  Perhaps  the  laird  did  not  greatly 
desire  to  press  for  lan's  secret ;  but  at  any  rate  he  took 
evasion  in  good  part,  ordered  Janet  to  produce  the 
decanter,  and  invited  them  both  to  drink  health  and 
felicity  to  the  new  laird  of  Dunveagle. 

"  And  now  to  the  new  mistress,"  he  cried,  when  the 
rite  was  performed. 

"And  who's  that,  sir?"  Ian  asked,  with  a  sudden 
change  of  mien. 

At  the  name  he  drew  a  wry  face,  whereupon  the 
laird  turned  on  him  sternly. 

"  Ian  Veg  Mackern,  for  forty  years,  more  or  less, 
we've  been  friends,  whiles  quarrelling,  whiles  making 
up,  but  always,  I  think,  friends.  But  before  we'ie  an 
hour  older  we'll  quarrel  outright,  if  you  don't  please 
me  now." 

There  was  the  fear  of  his  master's  eye,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  temptation  of  liquor.  So  Ian  drank.  Then 
he  went  out  to  seek  Alick,  who  was  sunning  himself 
on  a  rock  by  the  lower  sheep  fold. 

"  Alick,"  he  said,  producing  a  black  bottle  from 
the  inner  pocket  of  his  coat  and  a  stemless  glass  from 
the  outer,  "  it's  in  my  head  that  the  dram's  not  just  the 
best  thing  going  for  the  like  of  you.  But  you'll  drink 
now,  my  lad,  if  you  go  as  dry's  a  teetotaller  for  the 
rest  of  your  days." 

He  poured  out  a  brimming  glass. 

"  That's  to  drink  the  health  of  the  new  laird  of  Dun- 
veagle." 

"  And  what  might  they  call  him  ?  "  Alick  asked, 
getting  to  his  feet. 

"  God  bless  my  heart,"  cried  Ian,  "  what's  you  and 
me  been  doing  early  and  late?  What  haf  we  been 

415 


A   SON   or  GAD 


scraping  up  half-croons  for  and  make  Linnie  turn  out 
his  pockets,  and  turning  the  enemy's  guns  on  them- 
selves, as  planned  by  somebody  I  know?  It's  not  so 
often  Providence  helps  you  and  me,  Alick;  but  I'm 
pleased  to  tell  you  there's  to  be  a  new  laird  of  Dun- 
veagle,  and  his  name's  MacLean.  You  needn't  glower, 
Alick ;  take  off  your  drink." 

Then  having  taken  a  thimbleful  himself  to  pass  the 
time  while  Alick  gasped  and  wiped  his  eyes,  Ian  said — 

"  There's  only  one  thing  I  don't  like.  It  seems 
Miss  Ogilvie  is  to  be  the  new  mistress.  What  d'ye 
think  of  that?  I  know  you  and  her's  thick;  but  you 
needn't  be  getting  red  in  the  face,  for  indeed  I'm  not 
going  to  fight,  Alick  Ruah.  Folk  cannot  haf  every- 
thing they  want.  It's  enough  for  me  and  you  that 
we're  going  back  to  Dunveagle.  As  for  the  new  mis- 
tress, we'll  try  to  thole  her.  It  was  the  wee  store  in  the 
rock  that  did  it,  Alick,  and  the  laird  never  knew. 
Think  of  it,  man,  he  never  knew." 

In  the  month  of  flowers  and  hopes,  when  Dunveagle 
woods  wore  their  loveliest  green,  and  breathed  their 
sweetest  perfume,  preparations  for  a  great  festivity 
were  made  at  the  castle.  And  on  the  great  night  there 
was  not  within  the  Highland  border  a  piper  so  proud 
as  Ian  Veg  Mackern,  as  his  pipes  sounded  the  welcome 
home  to  the  captain  and  his  bride.  The  fir  torches 
gleamed  ruddily  on  bare  knees  as  they  had  gleamed  on 
that  far-off  night  when  Alan  MacLean  came  of  age 
(the  electric  jets  among  the  ivy  remaining  for  one 
evening  unlit),  and  the  ball  that  followed  was  an  old- 
fashioned  jubilant  marshalling  of  the  clans.  Among 
those  who  danced  in  honour  of  his  captain  was  Lord 
Kinluig,  who  showed  a  very  tender  interest  in  a  hand- 
some and  costly  present  which  came  to  the  bride  from 

416 


HANDS  ACROSS  THE  SEA 

New  York.    When  congratulated  on  a  certain  whis- 
pered event  he  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"  I  knew  it  was  coming,"  Connie  said  privately  to 
her  husband.  "  I  guessed  from  the  first  our  good 
Kitty  would  be  Countess  of  Ardvenmore.  I'll  be  so 
glad  to  have  her  beside  me." 

"  Aren't  you  sorry,  dear,  you  didn't  marry  a  title  ?  " 
he  asked  her. 

But  she  only  smiled  up  at  him,  as  one  whose  hap- 
piness is  too  deep  to  be  disturbed  by  foolish  questions. 

As  soon  as  possible  after  the  wedding  festivities 
Mr.  Ogilvie,  who  had  crossed  the  Atlantic  to  give  his 
daughter  away,  prepared  to  return  to  his  post  in  New 
York ;  but  before  going  he  saw  one  thing  which  made 
him  speechless,  namely,  Craigenard  made  over  abso- 
lutely to  his  mother.  Norman  had  heard  her  express 
a  longing  to  be  back  there,  and  next  day  the  old 
home  was  hers.  So  the  great  magicians,  time  and 
vicissitude,  once  more  restored  a  MacLean  to  Dun- 
veagle,  and  an  Ogilvie  to  Craigenard.  Mrs.  Ogilvie 
cried  softly  on  taking  possession,  and  even  in  the  home 
of  her  youth  might  have  been  unhappy,  but  for  the 
constant  love  and  solicitude  of  the  new  mistress  of 
Dunveagle. 

The  laird,  with  his  small  retinue,  returned  to  the 
castle,  bringing  the  treasure  he  had  guarded  so  zeal- 
ously through  so  many  years  and  hardships.  For  a 
little  he  kept  it  from  all  eyes,  scarcely  knowing  what 
to  do  with  it ;  then  convinced  that  the  time  for  deliver- 
ing it  had  come,  one  evening  while  his  son  and  daugh- 
ter-in-law were  merry  in  the  drawing-room  he  marched 
in,  handed  over  the  bag,  saying  it  would  explain  itself, 
and  marched  out  again  swiftly  as  if  to  avoid  questions. 
With  feelings  not  to  be  described,  Norman  and  Con- 
nie read  the  letter  and  handled  the  gold. 

417 


A   SON   OF   GAD 


"  Will  you  give  them  to  me,  dear?  "  Connie  asked 
presently,  looking  with  wet  eyes  in  her  husband's  white 
lace.  "I'll  take  good  care  of  them." 

"  Yes,  darling — from  my  mother  to  my  wife,"  he 
answered.  "  My  father  never  told  me  of  this." 

"  Think  how  they  loved  you,"  she  said  quietly,  ana 
took  the  treasure  into  her  own  keeping.  But  not  until 
Alick's  mysterious  hints  set  Norman  inquiring  did  she 
confess  her  own  share  in  certain  plots. 

The  parting  with  her  father  tried  her  sorely,  for 
they  were  chums  of  twenty  years'  standing,  but  she 
was  comforted  by  the  knowledge  that  America  was 
again  proving  kind. 

"  It's  the  finest  country  in  the  world,"  her  father 
said.  "  No  other  gives  a  man  of  grit  and  brains  so 
many  and  such  good  chances.  I  love  the  old  home — 
like  a  Highlander — but  I  love  America  too." 

"  So  do  I,"  Connie  returned  fervently.  "  So  do  I. 
Papa,  dear,  I'm  going  to  be  very  happy  in  Dunveagle, 
and  I'm  sure,"  looking  at  her  husband,  "  Norman 
won't  be  angry  or  jealous  if  I  say  part  of  my  happiness 
will  be  due  to  friends  beyond  the  Atlantic.  We'll 
think  of  one  another,  visit  one  another,  often,  often." 

"  Hands  across  the  sea,  Con,"  said  her  father. 

A  quick  joy  shone  through  her  tears. 

"  Yes,"  she  cried.  "  Hands  across  the  sea,  in 
a  double  sense — yours  and  mine — Britain's  and 
America's." 

(i) 

THE   END 


418 


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